Now there is this guy:
Henry. Age four.
And the new guy.
Gus. Eight months.
They are immediate and fully rooted in the moment.
Filled with desires that need to be satisfied now, now, now.
We are living in the moment. We are living in the now.
And I like that. It’s one of the discoveries of motherhood that agrees with me: being wholly present in the moment, something I was never any good at until they came along. Because they force me to be in the moment, to watch me! to look at me! to see this! To be with them completely. And most of the time, I’m good at it, which is a surprise.
So why am I writing about houses?
I don’t really know. Except to say that I think I’m trying to explain what I’ve been up to. What’s been going on.
The house is a metaphor for self, I know that. And I think I’m trying to make sense of it all.
Where I was before. And where I am now.
