Since moving, my writing has been a bit... er... irregular. My trusty macbook fizzled nearly as soon as we landed on Irish soil (bad battery, bad charger, dying motherboard, etc.) and our desktop is stationed in our office/library/playroom, so it's been taken over by a 3 year old with an addiction to Netflix.
I had this vision for a place to write in the bay window of our bedroom, away from the bustle of the kitchen and the laundry, looking out on that one tiny mountain in the distance. But, you know, feeding the kids and getting car insurance and other such adult responsibilities take priority, so I sighed a lot. Pinned a lot of things. Made a very hefty to do list for Matt ("you know, whenever you can, no rush...(sigh)").
Read moreI just can't tell you what it's like, after 40 days of displacement, to see your children running up stairs and down hallways.
To trip over Thomas and his friend Clarabel, tracks winding from the sitting room to the kitchen, long packed away and now breathing fresh air with the wee lad who has inherited them.
To give an after school snack to your eldest, the sliding glass doors to the back garden framing his sturdy head as he bends over homework, the green of shrubs reflecting off the glare in his specs.
Read moreAt 2 am this morning, I had this brilliant idea and opening paragraph of a new post (the wee lad was awake and screaming due to some sort of tummy trouble). In the light of day and under the haze of little sleep, I don't have a clue as to what it was going to be about.
Read moreIt's somewhat ironic that as I write this, we're off the grid.
The home we built here in America - among our friends and family in Kansas City, squared in by coloured pencils on walls - has closed its doors. I hugged my mother in the parking lot of our apartment and said goodbye, again. We are living out of suitcases, many many suitcases, waiting to see where our home will be on the other side.
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