The problem now is that I don’t want to leave the house. Like ever.
It’s so pretty. I just want to be here. And look out of the window. Do work. It is the perfect house for reading and writing. That’s all I want to do all day. And play with the kids.
They set up forts, everywhere.
Build towers and blocks.
My husband got a sitter for Saturday night and I didn’t want to go. I didn’t want to sit in a taco joint with sticky floors and greasy food. But I’ve had vicious head cold too, so there’s that.
I just wanted to buy soft cotton clothes, for sitting.
Even though everyone goes a little stir crazy.
Once I interviewed a lady who bought a mansion overlooking Chimborazo Park in Church Hill. She told me that in the 1800s there were roller skating parties in the attic.
And I thought, we could do that.
Over the weekend, I bought the kids roller skates at the second-hand sports store. Rolled up the carpet downstairs and turned it into a roller derby.
Played the Flash Gordon theme song on my phone.
My little one, Gus, laughed so hard he fell over.
It is painful to go back to the office on Monday, but once I’m there, I’m engaged. I have new things to write about, and it’s interesting. I learn new things, every day.
It is hard. But I like it.
I don’t know what I’m trying to say.
Just this. That it’s good and it’s bad, highs and lows. I love the house and I love my life, and then I don’t. Everything is wonderful and amazing. And then everything is awful and hard. It goes back and forth.
This life. And I think, that’s the way it’s supposed to be.