I was one of the original bloggers on the Internet. I started my first blog in 1999 before they were even called BLOGS. Today, it seems like everyone has a blog these days and it’s hard to commit to this new one. I’m trying to be an authentic writer and not be anonymous. I think it might impossible to blog publicly and still write meaningful words.
This is what I want to hold on to. My son Sullivan bounding up and down the neighborhood on Halloween night. His cheap, pirate costume is in stark contrast to big sister’s high-dollar, custom, New York boutique, bored-mom-on-maternity-leave-surfing-eBay-too-much pirate costume.
Sullivan runs up and down the boulevard on 18th Street. This spooky, Norman Rockwellian Halloween. ARE YOU HAVIN’ A GOOD TIME, S?” I say. He says, “Yaaawwwww.” Later, he says, “I get ta-nee (candy).” Sully is two.
Yesterday, daycare called. “Mr. S has had two bloody noses.” I am on my cell phone, buying groceries on my lunch hour. It does not quite constitute an emergency, by definition, and so I return to work. This is what working moms do. We suspend thoughts about our children from 8 to 5 — or we try to. Sometimes, life sucks.
Last night, all three kids gathered with me in Juliette’s room while Robert cleaned up the kitchen. We’ve put up Juliette’s new daybed. Her room is glorious. Green fringe curtains; green cottony quilt; green banker’s carpet. Apple green. Lots and lots of books. There are so many books in this house, it’s intimidating to even me. Going into Juliette’s room is like walking outside. We all want to be in Juey’s room. It’s less complicated than the evil den where the TV tempts our preoccupation with worthless viewing: sports, news, Dancing with the Stars…
I love my life because I love my Sully, my Juey, my Bridgy. I love them all so much.