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Thanksgiving at the Osthoff, 2019.
This is the first weekend away that we forgot to pack the stroller...and turns out we don’t need it. Another parenting milestone. Paulie has also reached a new level...a new level of Dadness.
We treated ourselves to a couples massage.
Me: “This will be fun, we’ve never done a “couple” thing before!”
Paulie: “Sure we have, we have a “couple” of kids!”
ba dum bum
It was a year ago next week that we packed up and moved into the temporary ‘partment (as Charlie called it) across the street so that our entire first floor could be gutted and an actual kitchen installed. We crossed our fingers that we had chosen the contractor wisely, grateful we could finally take the leap and do it.
This year I am grateful daily for the comfort, the function, the new found CLEAN that is our now lovely home. It is a dream, a six years long wish, a vision come true.
But can I get one more holiday wish?
Recipes. Actual recipes. Not blogs, not editorials, not profiles, not photo essays. I don’t care how you FEEL about the turnips Bethany, I. just. want. the. recipe.
Imagine if Aunt Fern had used fifteen index cards for the ambrosia.
Charlie is at my favorite age (so far). He wants to be a helper, his language is exploding, and he still wants to cuddle. He is also a smart ass.
I’ve spent the last twenty minutes trying to understand what a “cat load” is and why the absence of one would cause so much distress and so many tears. Catalog. He wanted the catalog.
After that was resolved, and our Sunday morning was once again peaceful, I asked him to clean up his playroom:
“No, Mama, I’m not available”.