I have been crafting a blog post in my head for about two months. It's a doozy. Problem is, it's not coming easily, which means I'm not ready to share and also means I haven't shared ANYTHING. Which is ridiculous, because there's been big stuff to share recently, but I've been so concerned that I don't have a big ravishing post to post that I haven't been posting anything.
I subscribed to the Boston Globe for the first time. Today was the first Sunday the paper arrived at our doorstep, and when I pulled it out I had one of those "ohmygod I'm old now" moments (like after you have a brownie before bed and you can't sleep. Because of a BROWNIE). And then, when that brief holy moment passed, I actually started reading the headlines, and that's when it hit me:
I can just write the headlines.
Headlines are valid. They're sometimes all you need (when they're well-written). And at least they're something. So while this bigger post is cooking, here are some headlines.
I made a huge decision about 6 weeks ago, and left my FableVision home for a new job down the street from my house. It was a really hard decision. Probably one of the hardest I've ever made. I love FableVision. I love the mission, I love the projects, I love the clients. But most of all, I love the team. My FableFamily. I've been through so much while at FableVision. I can't measure all I've learned. I got married. I went though 6 years of Trigeminal Neuralgia and consequential neurosurgery. Grace was born (finally). I've been through so much life with FableVision! But I was taught, though, that family is family and is always there, no matter what. I plan on proving that to be true, guys.
I am really excited about my new job. It's in Salem. It's a fast growing company, the people are fun, quirky, and genuinely nice, and did I mention it is down the street from my house? I have more time with Grace during each day, and I'm 15 minutes away from her. I love working in my home town. I get to go to cafes for lunch that we never have time to check out on the weekends. I bump into my neighbors while on a coffee run. I go to the farmer's market on Thursdays, which is around the corner from my office. There's something so nice about truly being local.
I could go on, but this is only headlines.
I'm participating in PiBoIdMo, or Picture Book Idea Month, to those of you not in the know (pretty much most people). I'm supposed to have an idea of a picture book every day this month. I have a few pretty good ideas. There will be more on this, later.
Grace has started putting words in the right places. It really happened all of a sudden, but her sentences are so complete now. And she's using pronouns, and those are in the right places, too. She comes up with phrases like: "I don't want it," or "Grace Lennon Cotter wants to play," or "what's her name?" She's mimicking the adults in her life, too. This afternoon (while wearing a chef's outfit) she put me down for a nap on the floor by covering me with a dishtowel and telling me to close my eyes and go to sleep. She sat next to me and rubbed my back and sang me songs. It's just magic watching this kid grow.
Another headline: It's really fucking cold out.
And finally, last weekend we went to Darien for Q's 3rd birthday. It was such a great weekend. Grace's few hours in the Knott playroom were probably the best of her life, primarily because of:
1. her cousins
2. the two crates of Thomas trains
3. the trampoline
4. and last but not least, the ball pit.
And I cried again when we left, because I hate leaving my sister and her babies. I just hate it. But this time I have a reason to go back very, very soon--I have to reclaim my brownie honor. Abby and I had a brownie bake off on Saturday night. And, I know this is going to be hard for some to believe, but…
I lost. The Cotter House brownies LOST to some undercooked, flat-ass-looking Abby brownies. (Oooooooh, I said it.) I love you booger, but my brownies are all I got so I will be coming to reclaim my brownie honor very, very soon.
That's all the headlines for now. I need to go read the paper.
