My day begins thusly: lying in bed, listening to my husband and son talk downstairs. Our new house is technically a three-bedroom; the largest bedroom being a refurbished attic, a huge, long room. Our families two beds are set up at opposing ends of the room. We have three pieces of furniture and a plant besides. It is a nice room; the first time my family has lived in a house with an upstairs.
I move to the end of the bed, still yawning sleep out of my eyes, and log into my computer. The stripey cat Harris hears me stir and pads upstairs, strops himself against my legs, and scarfs down the last bit of Mexican pastry left on the blue Fiesta plate on the floor. He then moves over to a lavender catnip-filled cat toy and begins to chew on one of its legs, thoughtfully, pedantically. My daughter sleeps behind me – dead to the world. Solidly out.
Lately I feel driven to create, to sew, to knit, to clean – to drag secondhand couches home, to make party favors for my childrens birthdays (months away!). My sewing room saw the completion of two projects yesterday (one that I started in the afternoon: a new pair of lined pants for Sophie). I would gladly work myself into exhaustion each night if I wasn’t aware that life requires periods of rest and connection. This is hard for me; to sit down on the couch, play a game with the kids, make eye contact with my husband and relax against his chest for a while.
Downstairs I hear my husband clipping my son’s fingernails, their voices at a sweet murmur. The day’s first cup of coffee calls to me. Our last day together before Ralph goes back to work.