I bought a bike yesterday. A purple and pink bike. On somewhat of a whim.
I’ve wanted to pick up a new bike somewhere — a yard sale would have done — because the bulky red Trek mountain bike that I’ve had for years is cumbersome and not fit for leisure riding with my kids. I tried to take the damn nuisance to the park about a month ago, and I had a helluva time getting it in the back of our SUV and trying to fit my daughter’s bike with training wheels in there too. Now of course a bike rack would solve that problem, but the Trek is just too much bike for me. Plus my husband has taken to riding it lately and that leaves me bike-less.
“Hey guys, Duke peed in my room,” said my little boy at god knows what hour of the night.
I got out of bed and cleaned up dog pee.
Now one would think it was not a great way to start the day, and really it’s not, but the thing is, when it comes right down to it, it is not a big deal. It’s only dog pee.
My dryer broke last night. The damn thing is almost 15 years old. No big loss and I knew it was coming, but now I am tasked with buying a new one. My washer is even older than the dryer and still working, but it’s only a matter of time before that’ll fail on me too. I told my husband last night we need to buy a new washer/dryer this weekend, because even though I enjoy going to the laundry mat to wash dog beds and comforters on an occasion, I am not up for weekly trips there. I went last night to dry the load that I was about to put in the dryer.
Since January I have been writing a TON through a class I took, journaling, emailing, writing group, etc. The writerly part of my brain has been busy and full and well-exercised. Most of the writing I have done has been scheduled too. I’ve been on an ambitious ride and it’s been fruitful.
But now… but now…
In September I found a local writing group that offered a class for mindful mother’s. I signed up. The class ended two weeks ago, but because of the positive experience we all had (about 10 of us), the instructors decided to keep it going. I’m thrilled.
Mostly I did some light-hearted writing about motherhood, funny stuff. I kept it simple, but honest. I wrote. I talked. I listened. I opened myself up to these other writer women all in my age group. Ah-mazing! I am so glad I found this group.
In a conversation with my cousin about our upcoming wedding anniversaries – hers in October, mine in November – she asked me what year my husband and I were coming up on.
“Seven,” I replied, to which she responded, “Oh boy, the 7-year itch!” I’d never heard that phrase, so she explained that it basically means that happiness in marriages tend to decline around the seventh year. We dissected it because often affairs are associated with the 7-year itch.
I am coming off a long weekend stay in my hometown.
Here are a few bits and pieces from my time at “home.”