Jennifro

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I believe the next line goes "there is no other place that I'd rather be." Can't say that's altogether true. There have got to be lots better places than the couch I'm on. This morning Nick came down the stairs, after I let him sleep in and said, "do the blog." An hour ago when I went upstairs to tidy, I saw that he had made the bed.

My bed is always made. Pretty much always. Even if everything else is a dump, or I clean my room at 7:00 at night, I still make the bed. I think it's only right if you're the last one out, that you make it. Sometimes he does and sometimes he doesn't, but this morning it was the making of the bed that compelled me to pen a quickie--though I'm sure he'd rather hear the story of Thanksgiving. I've had a snapshot of this post in my mind for awhile.. a few things that are part of me and mine, now.

Most importantly was the arrival of William Winfield Bond just over a month ago.. No that's not him, but rest assured he's just as darling. I am under his spell and realize there is something wrong with me when it comes to newborns. They literally make me miserable. I want them. And every time one is born close to me, it opens again the internal dialogue about whether or not I should have another. (yes? no? your eggs are archaic) Oddly I am not a baby-hungry type nor have ever been, but the smell of a fresh one gets me every time.

Fall has come and gone in such a flash that I literally don't remember it happening. I have nothing to define it by this year. I didn't go to Waterford or Homestead Farm.. nor did I put up my autumn preserves! Just kidding I never do that. I haven't even gone out back and rooted and rolled in the leaves with Lucky.. now you know I'm serious.

Last month we waved good-bye to the bus. The kindergarten bus. After a brief six-week stint, we decided to pull Camille out. There are several reasons why, but mostly we just want her to be older. After reading Girls on the Edge (a must read), I am a believer that all girls will need every ounce of help they can get, growing up in this world. Age and maturity will be our starting point, when it comes to school. I can't say it's been easy--she misses it and I have yet to find something to do with all the free time but I don't regret our decision.

The same week we were agonizing over Camille, little brother was struck with the palsy. I looked over at Mitchell during church and noticed part of his smile was cockeyed. At closer investigation.. I realized the entire half of his face looked dead and lifeless. Fear settled in and we had him to the doctor in the morning. Come to find out he had Bells Palsy (think Rocky Balboa or Greta Van Susteran) which basically means they give that diagnosis when they have no explanation for the paralysis. He underwent blood tests, lyme disease drugs and an MRI, but still no real explanation. All I can say, is I am counting my blessings that movement came back only eight days later--especially after visiting all the worst case scenarios on the web. A parent's love is so heightened by crisis.. I'm just so grateful he's better.

At the end of that week, I cleaned out my purse and Nick cleaned my closet, and things began to look up.

And now my real reason for the Autumn blur.. Act I. We've been rehearsing three times a week since September and my life has not been my own. Though in all cliched honesty, I wouldn't have it any other way. It's been fun and rewarding and like last spring, a unique chance to get to know many different people in a new way. Again, it has been hard and certainly a stretch on my part, but I have thoroughly enjoyed the challenge and the reward of directing. Show time is next week and even typing that made my stomach twist in nervous stress.

Cooking group is going strong. I always think it would be fun to document what we are eating but I never remember. I think this is year seven of being fed three times a week by a desperate housewife--other than myself. It is a bright spot in my day to know dinner is being delivered and I am rarely, rarely disappointed.

Once Christmas comes and goes, we will be getting Papin and Paul to redo our basement and kitchen. That last sentence is what gets me through the dark times. I literally cannot wait to get that ball rolling. Our kitchen has some charm, but I am so incredibly ready to drop-kick the 1940's cupboards. They have served long and served well and now deserve nothing short of a proper burial.

I am at such a standstill with my dining room/living room/library re-decorating project that I'm turning to Betsey Johnson for the answer. Is that desperation? All I know is I want black and white, green and the perfect pink, with a splash of turquoise, and every time I google that-- her name comes up, so I figure...? I dunno, for the first time in my life I find myself stuck in a decorator's purgatory with little sign of salvation in sight.

It seems that after teasing me for nine months with the "good" hair that results from the Brazilian Blowout, Jessica has decided to cut me off. Something to do with formaldehyde seeping into my scalp.

I don't really get it... if it can keep that stuff beautiful, shouldn't we all feel at ease?

In conclusion, I'm thrilled to report my kids have discovered Smurfs, my favorite cartoon when I was a tween. I had forgotten how they use "smurf" to replace every other noun or adjective so on that note...

"Right here right now, there is no other Smurf that I'd rather be!"

(weak, I know)