The gingerbread house was indeed easy to put together, especially with my husband present to point out that I was about to place the roof into the slot for the side wall. But I couldn’t help getting frustrated that the icing didn’t come out in those darling little scallop puffs like on the cover of the box. And when my daughter wasn’t trying to sneak the “whimsical” decorations into her mouth, I found myself telling her: “No! Not there!” or “Those candy beads are supposed to be the snowman’s buttons — not the roof’s shingles!”
When it comes to driving, I’ve always been on the safe, cautious side. But of course that tendency only got stronger once I was carrying my precious cargo in a carseat in the back.
I’m a really mild-mannered person most of the time, but I can’t tell you how it makes my blood boil to think that someone would risk my life, my husband’s life, my daughter’s life, your life — any life — in order to text “LOL” or “See u soon.”
I like the idea of recording the little moments that otherwise could get lost in the hustle and bustle of our days. I know memory doesn’t work like this, but when I imagine my brain, my effort to remember PIN numbers and grocery lists are like an avalanche crowding out sweet, happy moments I want to treasure.
You know how there are some things that are important to you before you become a parent that aren’t so important afterward? Yet there are also some interests you have that no change in your status in life could ever shake.
I am out of the broom closet – admitting that I am … well, let’s say “deficient” in the realm of housekeeping.
My house isn’t a nightmare or anything. It’s just … perpetually out of sorts. There are orphaned papers in piles, and toys that should be put away. The stovetop almost always has a pot or skillet on top that needs scrubbed by hand. There are too many shoes by our backdoor, and bags, too.