Home Sweet Home

Out the kitchen window at my parents' new house...

The last week has been a blur.  Heat waves do something funny to my state of consciousness.  In the span of ten degrees, I can be melted from a efficient, multi-tasking machine into a slow motion caricature of myself, moving through honey in a shadow of my daily motions.  The intense heat at the end of last week made time simultaneously stop and disappear.  Though it was less than a week ago, the memories are as hazy as those of a weekend last summer.

We segued from this sleepy state into road trips for the whole family.  The husband took off for work for a few days, the little man and I sped up to my parents' new home up north.  Again, time seemed to swirl away up there.  It's amazing how days can be so full, yet time can seem so slow.  Rainstorms turned brutal hot into shocking cold.  We ate lobster rolls.  Worked on plans for my little sister's wedding.  Talked late into the night.  I couldn't put down The Help and that thing happened to me that happens to us bookish ones where suddenly the lines between your novel and reality blur a bit.  I was both on the seacoast with my son and in 1960s Jackson, Mississippi.  I had weird and fitful sleeps, having intense dreams about friends who are pregnant.  I drank strong coffee and ordered toddler-sized formal-wear online.  The little guy did yard work.

Then yesterday, I had one of those singular parental experiences that must earn me some sort of special mama stripes (or at least a strong martini).  The little guy, the dog and I were sitting in stopped traffic approaching the Tobin Bridge on our way back into Boston.  In the backseat: toddler, dog, luggage.  In the front seat: mama, gabbing away to middle sister on cell.  And suddenly, little J puked.  Like The Exorcist.  Three times.  All over the car seat, all over the dog's leash, all over himself.  He was wailing with a tiny goatee of puke on his chin, and there was literally nothing I could do about it... no shoulder, nowhere to pull over, nothing but thirty minutes of stopped traffic between us and a sink.  I have no words.  He was a trooper, and I called upon my intimate knowledge of Boston's Beacon Hill neighborhood, pulled off the highway twenty minutes later, and cleaned him up as best I could with wipes and Kleenex, thoroughly horrifying every chic passerby with the misfortune to glance inside our Volkswagen.  The car smelled of goldfish crackers and yogurt, and I literally thought I might puke myself.  When we finally made it home, I have never been so happy to see the husband, fresh off a flight home, standing at the ready on the porch with his arms full of towels.  The little man seems no worse for the wear this morning, but all four of us are going to take a couple days to bounce back from that one.  Shout out to the husband for dealing with the putrid carseat... I love you.

This morning was lazy.  I woke up with a parched-with-thirst little guy at 4:55am, sipped cup after cup of coffee, trying to urge my eyes to open.  I started laundry.  Went through mail.  Unpacked.  Organized.  It was so incredibly soothing to be Home.  In my kitchen, in my pajamas, dealing with my life. I opened my laptop and could hardly believe that a week has gone by since my last post.  The time was packed to the brim, yet it already feels so far past in life's rear view mirror.  There is nothing sweeter than coming home after being gone, and feeling the tight embrace of the life you have created for yourself with the people you love.

The temperatures are cooling a bit, life is calming, and things are slowly coming back to normal.  I have so much to share here, and can't wait to get back to it.  In the next few days you can look for a cookbook review of (and delicious recipe from) Vegan Family Meals, and an amazing natural beauty product giveaway!  Come back soon!