It feels like just yesterday that I was trying to figure out how to fill up eleven weeks of summer vacation. (The answer is camp, cheap camp, free camp, grandparent camp, cousins at the beach camp, hanging with neighborhood kids, and camp iPad.)
He is NINE. Let that sink in a moment. Remember this?
We did not ask permission before stuffing him into this outfit.
Feel free to hum a little Tracey Lawrence. I know I am.
It’s been quiet around here for quite some time now. Facebook has absorbed a lot of the photos I used to post, which I’m hoping to change.
I’ve also been thinking a lot lately about the way I’ve referred to this place in the past, likening living in the northeast to being in exile. I’ve been here for 12 years, and increasingly I feel less exiled than expatriated. We visit the south regularly, and it’s oh so easy to slip back into the accent and the rhythms… but when we return to the north, I feel like I’m home. I’m hoping to have some more to say on that front – I’ve been thinking a lot lately about what makes a place home, in part due to watching a friend adjust to a major move overseas. So, you know, stuff’s brewing. Like a good chicory coffee. Or a crawfish boil. (Okay, not a really great simile, but it gives me an excuse to post this):
Today I dropped B off for his last day of Second Grade. What a difference nine months makes. He was literally sick with anxiety on the first day of school. Today, he was cool as a cucumber.
September 2013 & June 2014. What a difference.
Tai Chi lady, practicing on the median yesterday morning. It’s like Mulberry Street some days. Endless amazement.