I Want To Write

I want to write about how Ada got lice within 2 weeks of starting kindergarten. And how annoying it is to get rid of them. Or how every time I think about lice my head itches.

I want to write about how Ian tried to climb an empty shelf, only to have it fall on him. About how this made him bite his tongue, hard. How he bled briefly but was soothed by Chris and a bottle and how he would not let us see his tongue until the next day, which is when I realized it was really injured. (He's fine and the tongue is healing nicely, but he may have a permanent notch in the side of his tongue.)

I want to write about my job (though it is my general rule not to do that). I want to write (more) about how this work is compelling and taxing and satisfying and frustrating. About how hard it is to balance work with family and with any other interests or pursuits.

I want to write about how adorable it was to walk around the block with Mira. About how exciting it is that she is finally more interested in walking on her feet than her knees. About how my joy at this was in part due to the knowledge that her pants won't wear out quite so fast now.

I want to write about the joys of biking home with two kids laughing and joking behind me, delicious end-of-season tomato risotto with friends, and the warmth of my husband sleeping beside me.

I am too tired to write more about these things than I have just done. I am too busy to take blue photographs or to even remember to carry my camera with me. I worry that I am half-assing things all over the place but I am also so happy with my life right now. Someone smarter than me might point out that this is just life.