Come Visit Me At The New Blog

Aloha, friends.

I meant to give more heads up here and share with you my plans for relaunching the blog, but honestly things got so jumbled and I freaked out and couldn't deal. So here I am, late as usual, to let you know that I am now blogging at CelesteNoelani.com

Please come check out the new site subscribe, follow, whatever it takes to keep us connected. Here's a post on the new blog about the relaunch. Check it out and let me know what you think.

Impatiently Waiting For The Camellia Tree

Our Christmas tree will stay up for a little while longer, not because we keep it lit through any day in particular, but because I am refusing to pack everything away just yet. I say it's because lugging storage boxes to and from the attic is awkward and trying, but really it's because I find myself absolutely dependent upon tiny multicolored lights glowing against haphazardly placed shatterproof ornaments.

I Already Know (On Saying I Love You)

I am so incredibly in love with my husband.

I tell him I hate him sometimes, often in fact, in the same lighthearted way I say I hate everything, or the cat, or even the yoga pants that have become my haphazard uniform. He fires off a pun or any number of otherwise terrible Dad jokes and I groan I hate you in response* though both of us know I could never actually mean it.

On Gratitude and Going On

It's Thanksgiving and the house is full, both of people and the smell of roasted turkey. We loll back in our seats in that moment between being too full to move but too tempted by seconds (okay, thirds) to relinquish our half-empty plates.

This Beautiful Autumn Is Killing Me

After everyone else leaves the dinner table, my sister and I stay to finish our drinks. Our conversation, as usual, revolves around homesickness and the conflict of living excessively good lives so far away from home. It is just after six but it has already been dark for what seemed like hours. I mention having to remind myself that Seattle is much farther north than it appears on a map of the US.

The Boy In Our Hearts

She knows she has another brother, one she can't play with or see or talk to or torment. One who won't torment her back, the way her eldest brother does.

“He's in our heart,” she says, pointing to her chest.
“Yes, baby,” I tell her. “He's in our heart.”
“I'm not a baby,” she says forcefully. And she isn't, of course. She's four. But she doesn't only mean that she's too big to be called baby. She knows she'll always be my baby. Daddy's baby. Our baby.

Backburner

He comes home for lunch at 11:05, shoulders stooped from the weight of Language Arts and Algebra I. Last night's pizza is pulled from the oven and set on the table.

“When are you going to buy milk?” he asks, instead of saying thank you.

This is how he lets me know he needs something. Not, we're out of milk or I drank the last of it this morning, but when. When will I replace the milk I didn't know was out, the shoes I didn't know were outgrown. When will he get his license, a car, a haircut.

On Time Travel And Therapy

I'm having a tough time lately. And by lately, I mean always. I can't remember a time that wasn't tough. That I didn't struggle.

I do well sometimes. So well that even I don't believe that I'm on a tightrope of depression and anxiety. I feel like I'm walking that line so perfectly, so capably, that I am keeping my thoughts of doom and wrongness away. But after awhile, in they seep and I realize they've always been there. I've just been good at ignoring them. Ignoring the tightrope. The trepidation.

A Very Lovely Summer

The strawberries have going berserk in the front yard. The bean plant I unceremoniously ripped from one back yard container garden survived its relocation to the front yard as well and one long reaching vine climbs happily up a shepherd's hook I'd been keeping in my I swear I'm going to do something with that pile for years.

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