At work yesterday, I was standing by the printer, waiting for something to print for a meeting I was getting ready for. There is a basket next to the printer where people put extra documents that have printed out but haven't yet been claimed. On the top was a sheet of paper that said "what do you hope for". I looked closer and realized the bottom half of the paper was covered up by another blank sheet - it was an announcement for a public meeting, not some divine message left there for me. It kind of made me laugh, because just a moment before I had been thinking "I just want this day to be over", which then prompted me to think, like Jack Nicholson in As Good As It Gets, "shouldn't it be better than that?". What am I doing wishing my days away like that? What is it I'm hoping for, really?
I had to work late Tuesday night, so Dora went to play with her friend Clara for a little while. It used to be that I would drop Dora off at a friend's house and she would cry when I left. She still does, a little bit, but she cries a lot more when I pick her up and we leave her friends. She was in the back, crying and saying "I want out" over and over again. I thought, as I often do when driving, about how worried I am about the world. Earlier I had listened to "Living on Earth" on Public Radio, listening to stories about fisheries collapsing, acidic oceans, global warming impacts on sea life, on and on. I truly believe it is important to be informed, to listen to and learn about these things so that we can do something about them. But sometimes it is just too much. Sometimes I just have to turn off the news and listen to music on the drive home from work. Or I just listen to Dora saying "I want out" about 800 times.
I was worried about the world before I had a baby. I was angry at people who seemed to have absolutely no regard for the environment, who used resources like they were the last ones who would ever need them, who littered or didn't recycle or who drove giant SUVs. I would get so angry at greedy people making unfathomable amounts of money by destroying the earth, or other people, or themselves. If nothing else, I could not understand how those people could sleep at night knowing their greed was destroying the inheritance of their grandchildren. Even greedy, selfish people want to see their DNA perpetuated, don't they?
When Dora was first born, my fears about the world became very exaggerated. I have always been a "worrier", but I entered a whole new level of worrying during Dora's first 9 months. It got pretty intense for a while - enough so that I had to get some help to overcome it. I was intensely afraid of everything, afraid of what might happen to Dora, afraid of myself, afraid of being afraid. It was kind of like having a baby had turned up the volume on the fear frequency in my brain. Gradually I have been able to turn it back down, to get things back in perspective - but now and then there is still a finger on the volume knob, bumping it up just a bit to make sure I'm paying attention.
For the most part, I've sort of settled back into my usual level of worry - sort of a general malaise kind of worry. I worry about little things, like whether the rain will knock all the leaves off the trees before I feel like I got to enjoy them enough, or whether or not I'll get Dora to bed early and smoothly enough to do a few things before Brian gets home from work. I worry about the black widow spider we found in our kitchen on Saturday, that ran under the stove before we could get it. I worry about money - I wonder if everyone, even the extremely wealthy, worries about money.
I do often drive around worrying about the world, though, thinking of all the things that are wrong, how many of them seem irreversible, unfair, catastrophic. I wonder what things will be like when Dora and her friends are older. How much more difficult will it be to have teenagers in 15 years, when iPhones and Blackberries are totally obsolete and wireless electronic technology has reached heights we can't even imagine now? What will happen to the ecosystem if things continue in the direction they're going now? When will we decide that we have to drastically change what we're doing, and will it be too late?
When I get overwhelmed about all of this I try to be comforted by the hopes I have for Dora and her friends. I look at them and I think they may be able to help us. I'm not thinking of this like we're passing the buck to her generation, but instead thinking of it as if my responsibility now is to work towards a solution, thereby teaching my daughter that she has to work towards a solution, too. I know my other friends who are parents or who are involved in children's lives are doing this, too. I have to believe that is making a difference. When I think about all the kids I know now because I'm a parent, I am amazed by all of their intelligence, wonder, and beauty. I don't want them to grow up any faster than they already are, but I can't help but imagine what they'll be like as adults, sharing all their gifts with the world. Perhaps I am being overly optimistic. Perhaps every generation has assumed that the next will solve the problems, thereby relieving themselves of the responsibility.
I have a lot of hopes - from inconsequential to monumental. I hope the black widow spider finds its way outside. I hope we continue to be able to pay our bills. I hope the flea medicine kicks in and the dogs stop itching. More than that, though, I hope Dora has a beautiful, wonderful, exciting life filled with adventures (only safe ones!), great food and friends, music, art, literature, nature, pets, children, a career that has meaning, love. I hope I can teach Dora about who she is and where she comes from, that I can teach her about who her Grandma Carol was in a way that does justice to all that my mom means to me. I hope I can teach Dora to be a good, honest, thoughtful person. I hope I can teach her to cook and take pictures while Brian teaches her to play piano. I hope that Dora and her friends can meet this challenge, solve these problems, raise us up to a new level of humanity that respects everything and everyone. I hope that in 30 years when Dora is driving around in some carbon-neutral, emissions-free vehicle with her baby in the backseat, she can listen to Living on Earth and it will be an hour of stories about how the human race has reversed climate change, the oceans are flourishing, species are re-established, and the ecosystem is in harmony. I hope she never has to think about how much she is worried about the world. Maybe that's overly optimistic, but as a "worrier", I could use a little optimism. So, for whoever asked, that is what I hope for.
It's soup weather. Actually, today in Asheville it wasn't really soup weather at all - but today was our only anticipated nice day this week. It's supposed to get cold and rainy tonight and we even have a chance of snow this weekend - insert here the collective sigh - so soup weather is here even if today was warm and sunny.
We are having soup for dinner every night this week, actually. Aside from its comfort-foodiness, I love soup because its usually easy and fast, the stove does nearly all of the work, and there are leftovers. If you want to hear more about how much I love leftovers, you can read about it here. Suffice it to say that, as a full-time working mom, leftovers are my friend.
This recipe is loosely based on one of the many great vegetarian soups found in Molly Katzen's Enchanted Broccoli Forest, one of my all-time favorite cookbooks. It's vegan and makes great leftovers. When I made it this week, I used two tablespoons of curry powder, which was quite hot. I think one tablespoon would be more to my liking - but that's the beauty of soup - it is very flexible. So, make it as mild or spicy as you like!
Curried Squash and Apple Soup
1 Tbs vegetable oil
1 medium onion, chopped
3 garlic cloves, minced
2 Tbs fresh ginger, minced
1 - 2 Tbs curry powder (use 1 Tbs if you like it mild, and 2 Tbs if you like it hot)
1 medium or two small winter squash, peeled, seeded, and cubed
4 - 5 tart apples, peeled, cored, and cubed
4 cups water
salt
brown sugar
optional toppings:
plain yogurt
toasted, chopped pecans
Heat the oil in a large soup pot over medium until hot. Add the onion, garlic, and ginger. Season with salt and saute over medium heat until the onion is translucent and fragrant, 3 - 5 minutes. Add the curry powder and continue cooking for another minute or two, until fragrant. Add water and squash, bring to a boil, then lower heat to medium-low and let simmer for about 5 - 10 minutes. While the squash is simmering, peel, core, and chop the apples. As soon as they are ready, add them to the pot, stir, and partially cover. Let simmer another 10 minutes, or until squash and apples are tender. Puree with an immersion blender, or puree in batches in a regular blender. Taste to adjust the seasonings, adding a Tablespoon or two of brown sugar or a bit more salt if desired. Delicious and warming with optional toppings or plain.
Stay warm!
Nothing says love quite like a hand-knit item. A few of the most beautiful and meaningful items in my life, right now, are hand-knits. I once read that the best recipients of hand-knit items are other knitters. While I have made knitted items for many other people, not all of them knitters, I will say that after I became a knitter myself, my own appreciation for hand-knit items grew exponentially. I suppose this has something to do with what knitting means to me, but it also has to do with knowing what it feels like to cast on and purl and knit and bind off, and make something useful and loving out of a ball of yarn.
I began knitting with my mom when she was battling cancer. My mother was an artist, and had experimented with many art forms throughout her life. Her sister, my aunt Joanne, is a master knitter. But my mother had only dabbled in knitting and crocheting, so when I learned to knit it was like my mother was learning to knit all over again. One day, sitting in the middle bedroom with her at my parent's house, a drizzly Ohio fall day outside, my mom sent me to her closet to find yarn and some needles, and my own love of knitting was born. I didn't know it at the time, but learning to knit with my mom was one of the last things she got to teach me. I bought us a knitting book, and as we leafed through the projects together, I imagined us journeying through the patterns and clicking our needles while chatting. We'd make mistakes and master the art together, like novice kayakers trying out a tandem for the first time. Instead, it turned out, my mom was more like the kayak guide who stays behind, helping me into the boat alone, standing on the shore and pushing me off into the water, smiling and waving as I figured out the strokes. She only had the chance to knit a few rows before she was too weak or too uncomfortable to go further, but I kept going.
My first project was a garter stitch scarf in gray wool. I knit it on small needles - maybe fives - and it was only about 15 or 20 stitches across. I took it with me for mom's doctor's appointments, knitting in the waiting room while she got radiation treatments, quietly clicking my needles while the nurses gave her a bag of fluids to combat dehydration. I knitted in the car while my exhausted father drove us back and forth from OSU, hoping for good news and never really getting any. The scarf had holes from dropped stitches and was bound off too tightly. It was decidedly imperfect, but it was mine. I finished in time to give the scarf to my mom for Christmas, just shy of two weeks before she died. She was distant and tired at Christmas, trying to be part of the celebration but only really mentally present now and then. But we exchanged glances and a smile when she opened my gift, and I know she knew that even though the scarf had a lot of errors in it, it had been made with a lot of love.
I have the gray scarf now, and its just about the only thing I've ever knitted that I've actually kept for myself. I love to wear it, even though it's got holes in it, because I know why I made it and who I made it for. I wore it today, and when I picked Dora up from school, she said, "I want mommy's scarf". I let her wear it home in the car, and she sat in the back, sucking her fingers and quietly pulling little pieces of fuzz from the yarn.
Dora is blessed to have many hand knit items. My aunt Joanne, the master knitter, has made her a beautiful sweater with matching mittens and booties, as well as a hat and scarf set that match a hat and scarf set that she made for me. Aunt Joanne also makes the most amazing hand knit socks. Hand knit socks are like pure luxury - they make you feel wonderful even on the dreariest of days. I wear her hand knit socks all winter long, and now Dora has a pair, too. My friend Mandy is becoming a prolific knitter, and made Dora a sweet little kerchief for her birthday. It looks so sweet over Dora's blond hair.
Dora's night-night is a hand knit, too, made for her by my friend Maria. She sleeps with that blanket every night and loves it so much I have to sneak it away to wash it. She loves to hold it in her arms, sucking the fingers of one hand while pulling at the blanket with her other hand. If I need her to calm down, the night-night brings instant calmness.
Today was a cold, rainy day just like the day when my mom asked me to find yarn and some needles. There isn't a day that goes by that I don't miss my mom, but some days are harder than others. As soon as I got in my car today to drive home, the theme song to All Things Considered and the drizzly cold rain and the scarf around my neck made me think about my mom, wishing so intensely that I could just drive up the driveway at my house to her warm kitchen and her wry humor and her absolute, total love. Dora and I came home, and I made dinner while she watched the Muppet Show. After dinner we sat on the floor playing with the teddy bear puzzle. I thought about my mom, and wished more than anything that she could be here to see my baby girl, to see how absolutely beautiful and brilliant she is, to help me figure out how to do this right. I would give anything to see her sitting on the floor with Dora playing with the bear puzzle, to hear what she would have to say about her, to watch what she would teach her.
I know that my mom gets to be with Dora through me, that I get to learn how to be a good mom by remembering what my mom did, that I have to teach Dora things my mom would have taught her because she doesn't get the chance. I know that my mom is here inside of me, and inside of Dora, too, and I know what a gift that is. But it doesn't really make the tangible absence any easier and it doesn't make me miss my mom any less.
The thing I love most about knitting, more than its meditative quality or its beauty or its warmth, is the way it connects us. I knit the same way my mom knitted and the same way my aunt knits and the same way women throughout history have knitted. We're all connected, one long yarn extending from cast on to bind off throughout history. I love that now I can wear my mom's scarf, knowing that it was once around her neck, and Dora can wear it, too. To me, it's my mommy's scarf, and that's just what it is to Dora, too. So even though we aren't together right now in the way that I'd like us to be, we are all together in another way, all three of us enveloped and embraced by the same warmth and love.
Tall, high-heeled black boots really start to hurt when you wear them all day and into the evening. This shall come as no surprise to all you fashionistas who already own a pair, but I just got my first pair of tall black boots and I have learned this lesson the hard way. My good friend Maria was in town the other day, and we went to my favorite used clothing store - Rags Reborn - where we got some really sweet deals, including my new pair of boots.
I wore the boots all day because, in addition to my usual 8-hour work day, I had a function this evening and I wanted to sport my new boots (as well as a new coral-colored wool skirt and black cashmere sweater, also from Rags Reborn) to the event. The event I went to was the Mix 96.5 2009 Women's Expo. A few days ago I wasn't planning on going to this - didn't even really know it was happening - but then I got a phone call, and that is how I ended up buying a new outfit at my favorite shop and standing in front of a crowd of women holding a bouquet of flowers.
A few days ago I got a call from Tammy at WOXL. She called me at work, and I took the call assuming it was work-related. I talk to the press pretty regularly in my job, and thought it had to do with some upcoming meeting or a document we have out for public comment. Turns out Tammy was calling because Brian Turner, my husband, had nominated me as one of "10 Women You Should Know in Western North Carolina". She said he had said some really great things about me, and they had decided he was right. I smiled, took down the information for tonight's event, and silently figured that everyone who was nominated won. Brian and I joked that it was "a major award", like the leg lamp in A Christmas Story.
After a long day at work, a rushed dinner of black bean and corn quesadillas, and a quick glance in the mirror to freshen up, I headed downtown, with Brian and Dora following a few minutes behind me. The reception was held in the ballroom of the Haywood Park Hotel, a downtown hotel I've never been in. The ballroom was full of vendors, and full of women wandering around with black gift bags and red roses. I actually saw someone I knew - a friend from my postpartum group - but I was otherwise just wandering around waiting for Brian, too hot in my black coat and handknit scarf, wondering why I had grabbed the diaper bag, my purse, and both of our phones.
Soon there was an announcement asking that the top 10 women come to the front of the room. Brian and Dora walked in just in time, and Dora ran over to me right away. I saw that the Mayor of Asheville, Terry Bellamy, was amongst the group of 10 women. I said hello to the Mayor, who I have the pleasure of knowing through my job, and introduced Dora to her. We were told what order to stand in at the side of the stage, and the recognition ceremony began.
I was second-to-last in line, and as I listened to the nomination forms for the other ladies read, I began to wonder how on earth I had ended up being chosen to be part of this group. Here I stood with a woman who is Asheville's second female mayor, the first African-American Mayor of Asheville, the youngest Mayor in the state of North Carolina. There were two nurses, a doula, a crisis hotline counselor, a breast cancer survivor. Dora proceeded to jump down from my arms and run around, just the kind of wild-toddler behavior you always think your kid will never do, until you actually have a kid. I cringed as she ripped apart a rose, scattering petals across the black carpet.
Soon it was my turn to stand at the front as my nomination form was read, Brian snapping pictures, Dora rolling around on the floor in front of me, everyone smiling at us. I am not the best at being in the spotlight, but I did my best to smile and listen as Brian's words about me were read aloud. He talked about my work, my cooking, my recycling, my biodiesel car. The address of my blog was announced. The pets, the little house in West Asheville, Dora. All those facts about my little life, read to a room full of people. It was very humbling to stand there amongst all of those women doing incredible things, being recognized for just being me.
As the ceremony ended, Tammy from the radio station shook my hand, hugged me, and congratulated me. I apologized for my wild toddler and she smiled and said, "she's a part of who you are, so I think it was perfect". Strangers congratulated me as I made my way back to Brian, a woman hugged Dora and said she was just precious. It was all a little surreal, and also really fun and exciting, too. Brian dashed off to rehearsal and I walked back to my car with Dora holding my hand, enjoying the glow of a cool Asheville downtown evening and my 15 minutes of fame.
I came home, took off my boots, and settled my girl into bed - hugging her close and telling her I love her, making her say it back to me again and again. I thought about the other women tonight, wondering again how I ended up in that group of life-savers and survivors. I guess maybe I ended up there because I had a little something different, because I represented working mothers in their 30s, because something about my story caught someone's eye. Maybe I ended up there because they only got 9 other nominations so they had to pick me. It was wonderful to be recognized publicly, to have strangers appreciate what I do, to hold my bouquet of flowers at the front of the room. But what was even more wonderful was to know that all of that really started right here - in my home, my heart, my marriage, my family. It was wonderful to hear, in an ever-so-public way, that my husband loves and appreciates and admires what I do, enough to tell other people about it. That is more lovely than the bouquet of flowers or the flashing lights or the 15 minutes of fame. To know that what I do and who I am has meaning for my family - that is a true gift, a major award, an absolute honor, and more than worth the pain of a day in black high heel boots.
Today we received the last of our regular season CSA boxes from Flying Cloud Farm. We've joined for the extended season - which runs up to Thanksgiving - but its a sure sign of fall when the "official" CSA boxes run out. At the farmer's market this morning I bought what could be the last of the cherry tomatoes - so sweet and delicious, and a favorite snack of Dora's. Our CSA box included some beautiful apples, another sure sign of fall. This morning's cool fog, the maples burning orange along our street, and the crisp blue sky all put me in the mood for a delicious apple crisp. Here's the recipe for one I threw together today for dinner at my friend Mandy's house this evening - it tasted absolutely heavenly with a scoop of vanilla ice cream. It's enough to make me feel a little better about relinquishing summer.
Apple Almond Crisp
1/2 cup cold butter, cut into pieces
1/2 cup whole rolled oats
1/2 cup sliced almonds
1/2 cup unbleached all-purpose flour
1/2 cup brown sugar, packed
1/8 tsp salt
6 crisp apples (not overly ripe and not too sweet)
zest and juice of 1 lemon
1 tsp vanilla
1 Tbs granulated sugar (or more if your apples are really tart, or less if they are really sweet)
1/2 teaspoon cinnamon
Preheat oven to 375. In a medium bowl, stir together the oats, almonds, flour, brown sugar, and salt until well blended. Cut the butter into the oat mixture until large crumbs form. Put the bowl in the refrigerator while you prepare the apples. Lightly butter a 8 x 8 inch square baking pan (the wrapper from the stick of butter you just used works great). Peel, core, and thinly slice the apples and toss them into the prepared pan. Add the lemon zest and juice, vanilla, sugar, and cinnamon and mix gently. Taste an apple slice to see if the mixture is sweet enough for you, and add more sugar if needed. Sprinkle the oat mixture evenly over the apples. Bake for 30 - 35 minutes, or until top is golden brown and fruit is bubbling.
This recipe can easily be made vegan by substituting vegetable oil for the butter. It can be made gluten and wheat free by substituting 1/2 cup of finely ground oats for the flour. You can easily grind whole rolled oats yourself in a spice mill, food processor, or even using an immersion blender (that's how I do it).
Happy fall!
I have written about this before, so it should come as no surprise to all of you - we have been thinking about having another baby. We have always wanted two children, so this is really nothing new or unusual for us. It's just that, now that I know what it's actually like to have a child, it's not such a simple decision anymore.
I think it is probably part of the grand design that we do not really know what it's like to be a parent until we have children. In a way, it's like marriage - if there were a way to really know what it would feel like after 5 years when your husband neglects, for the 5 millionth time, to refill the water jug in the fridge - how many of us would actually get married? In many ways, I am happy I didn't know more about what it would be like to be a mom, because I may not have given it a try.
When I was pregnant, my chiropractor said to me that she would love to give birth again, but wasn't too sure about raising the second child. During my pregnancy I was very focused on and apprehensive about labor, so I was pretty puzzled by what she said. But I understand it now. Labor and delivery were quite spectacular for me, and, in my opinion, raising Dora has been much harder than bringing her into the world was.
After Dora was born, one of the priests from the Episcopal church I attend came to visit us. Dora was tiny - maybe 4 weeks old at most. He asked us what was most surprising about becoming parents. I said that I had not had any idea how much I would love her. He smiled in understanding. He has two children, and admitted that when his wife was pregnant with their second baby, he was afraid that he would not - perhaps could not - love the second child as much as the first. When she was born, though, he found that his capacity for love was limitless.
I admit that I share this fear. Not only have I been surprised by the depth of my love for Dora, I've been surprised by the fact that it continues to grow and grow. I've said this before, but it's true - every day, I think I cannot possibly love her more than I already do, and the next day comes, and I find that I love her even more. We are in a stage now where she can readily show us love in return - with hugs, kisses, smiles, and "I luh lou, mommy". I think this has brought an even greater intensity to my love for Dora. We're taking our relationship to a whole new level, so to speak.
I know that a second baby is going to bring with it so many new challenges - back to sleepless nights, crying that can't be eased, teething. On our walk tonight, I saw two kids fighting over what appeared to be a set of wrenches - screaming at each other about something they shouldn't have been playing with anyway. There will be jealousy, arguments, hair pulling, and other tribulations. We will no longer be playing zone defense - now it will be man to man. When I am alone with the kids, I will be outnumbered. A second baby will undoubtedly put a new strain on our marriage, which even 2 years after Dora's birth still feels at times like an injured animal licking its wounds, not yet ready for another confrontation.
All of these are very valid, practical reasons to fear a second baby. But, deeper inside of me, there is another set of fears and apprehensions. Do I want to let go of the luxury of focusing all of my parental love and energy on Isadora? Do I really want to have to divide myself like that? How will it feel to no longer just be Isadora's mom? Can I ever love another child as much as I love her? Can my heart bear the burden of that intense love twice as much as it does now? Loving like that - it is beautiful, but it is painful and frightening, too. Letting yourself go to that is such a colossal act of faith. I didn't know how colossal it was the first time around - I jumped off the cliff without even realizing I had been at the ledge. This time, my eyes are wide open and I've seen the canyon floor, I've felt the wind rushing past my face as I've fallen. It's just not so easy to step off into the darkness when you've seen it once before.
When I picked Dora up from school today, she was standing by the window into one of the infant rooms, watching the babies. She ran over to me, excitedly telling me about the babies, then ran back to look again. One of the teachers said, "she's been watching those babies and talking about them SO much. She just loves them!" Dora has a little baby doll she carries around, sleeps with, nurses. When I ask her, "do you want a little brother or sister?" or "do you want mommy to have a baby?", she smiles and says yes.
I can say all I want to about my fears, but in my heart I know there is room for this. I have always wanted two children - Brian and I agree we want to experience this again. I want Dora to have a sibling, to feel like she is part of something bigger than just Brian and I, to have family even when we are gone. I don't know when - none of us do, of course - but someday, there will be two kids in this house - crying, singing, dancing, tantruming, loving - and there will be plenty of room in my heart for both of them.
Tonight while I was making dinner, Brian and I were wondering why its so hard to keep our house clean. At about that moment, Dora pulled down from the table a pile of puzzles and her bowl of crayons. We laughed a little and cringed a little. After Brian left for rehearsal and Dora went to bed, very sweetly, I might add, I looked around the house and wondered, "why did we even have to ASK each other why our house is a mess?"
I aspire to be one of those people whose homes is nice, neat, and organized. I have had a subscription to the magazine "Real Simple" for years. I even have a subscription to it that lasts well into the future - my mother bought me several years of a gift subscription, and amazingly, it still continues, even though she has been gone for almost 5 years now. The label says "gift from Brady Runser". Her name wasn't Brady, but for some reason the folks at Real Simple couldn't understand why Carol Runser wanted a gift subscription for Caroline Runser, so she used her maiden name as her first name to make it easier. Real Simple indeed. Anyway, as a subscriber to this magazine, I have a monthly reminder of all that my home could be. Great organizing tips, new uses for old things, a month of easy dinners. I love the features of this magazine, and I use them occasionally, and yet my house is still cluttered and messy.
I try to think of the positive things that go along with our cluttered home. For one thing, I think it's safe to say that little Dora's going to have one heck of an immune system. I also like to think that our messiness is a sign of a house full of love, activity, music, and creativity. This is not to say that a neat and organized home doesn't have these things - those folks just have something figured out that I do not. But my endless parade of dishes, including pots and pans, is a sign of all the work that goes on in my kitchen. I make things from scratch, almost every day, and along with that comes great meals and great messes.
Our tiny house doesn't make things any easier. It was built in 1929, when, apparently, closets were not necessary. We have two tiny closets, two tiny bedrooms, a scary dirt basement full of cave crickets, and an unfinished, short attic whose access point is a hole in the ceiling that's about 10 inches square. Storage is not this place's forte.
Just like life, my house is not perfect. It's full of pet hair and toys. There are blocks under the couch and an unmatched jelly shoe in the bathroom. There is literally some kind of musical instrument, piece of music, or musical paraphernalia in every single room of my house. My dining room is a playroom, an office, and a piano studio. Oh, and a dining room. This place literally makes me crazy sometimes - I've even considered paying someone to organize it for me - but, its ours. The fur and the toys and the dirty pots - they are all ours, and for that, I am both extraordinarily blessed and extremely thankful. I may covet the neighbor's house - ahh to have such storage space, and an office, and a playroom for Dora that doesn't have 5 other uses - but my home is where my heart is, and I love it in spite of its imperfections. Hopefully, my friends, you still love me even though I'm confessing my messiness in both words and pictures here. My hunch, though, is that you can all relate, and you all have either a few pet hairs (or many) or a block or a stray jelly shoe under your couch. Now, that is a house full of love.
