Late last night, we returned from ten cosy and heart-restoring days in Dublin. There’s a pile of laundry the size of Maya sitting in the closet and the contents of our suitcases piled on the living room rug. There’s a Maya needing to be held, confused by the jetlag and somehow teething even though I’m not sure where these new ones will fit into her already toothy grin. There’s an empty fridge and a pile of mail to be sorted, folded practically into origami by our mail lady trying to fit ten days of mail into our little box.
But, there’s also sneaking, hinting motivation to return here for the first time in over a month. So I’m seizing the moment and trying to get back into practice. I’ve missed the therapy of this space, and the camaraderie of this space and the creativity of this space. I’m embarrassed that most of my posts this year have come after long silences, explanations of time away and drama that has occupied the space my brain used to have to write.
I’ve been asked often in the last year and a bit whether I miss working full time. I’ve been trying to freelance here and there, and I’ve started looking for full time work again, but I haven’t missed it. Instead I’ve really tried to embrace the season that I’m in, getting to stay home with Maya every day and getting to soak in all her tiny-ness. Even if some days we drive each other a little batty and really look forward to Michael walking in the door. I know work will be there when this season is over, so I’ve been trying not to be too hard on myself if this season means that I don’t get to blog daily like I used to.
Michael woke me up very late on Saturday night to tell me he ran into an old friend from his school days at the pub. He was a little surprised when she seemed to know quite a lot of details about his life since they hadn’t seen each other in years, but as it turned out she reads FCV. (Hi, Sinead! 🙂 And she told him she missed it. So in the wee hours of the morning in the cosy attic bed he said, “So you have to start writing again, okay?” and promptly fell asleep.
Turns out it was exactly the little shove I needed to log in again.
Since I last wrote, we said hello to a baby we thought we’d never meet, and then said goodbye to him much too soon. We introduced Maya to Ireland for Thanksgiving (ironic, yes), I became an Irish citizen and then made the national news. We froze our toes off running in front of castles, and now we’ve returned to muggy, sweaty Houston heat just in time for a palm tree Christmas.
I have more to say on all of those things, but this will serve as a start. Thanks for bearing with me through this season. And thanks, Sinead, for encouraging me to return.