Organizing closets and drawers takes up almost as much time as decorating these days. After spending six years in our last house, it’s a bit of a shock to my OCD system to have things in different places, different rooms, different compartments.

On the other hand, I have my own closet. Actually… and please don’t throw anything at your computer screen because it will be expensive to replace it… I have my own dressing room. Now before your head fills with images of chandeliers and gilt trim… it’s not like that. It needs some help. It’s a tired room. But after six years with the tiniest closet built in the 1950’s I AM NOT COMPLAINING.

It has a little built in desk and a window overlooking the roof line. The vent pipe for our hot water heater sits just across the roof line, so on cold days puffs of fog blow by the window. I pretend like I’m in an attic apartment in London. It’s a good place to write.

I’m also convinced it’s a national squirrel highway. They truck back and forth, so busy, screeching at each other. The other day I was painting, with the window open (sans screen), and a squirrel popped in and perched on my desk. I froze, paint brush in hand, with a million thoughts running through my mind.

What if he doesn’t leave?

What if he has the plague?

What if his friends decided to join and have a big party in my dressing room?

What if their little paw prints track paint everywhere?

And of course the all encompassing: What if he bites me?

Long story short, he left without a fuss. He just sort of sat there looking at me like, “Hey, this dressing room has been fine for the last 30 years with it’s glossy beige built ins and stained carpet. Leave it alone lady.”

But you know me. I can’t leave it alone. I also can’t wait to get everything settled and turn on lamps and set up my computer at that little desk. It’s a place I can write. And hide. And watch the squirrel highway.

 

I’m finally better.

Actually, I have a cold. But compared to last week, I feel like running a marathon.

Jane and I are sick and at home missing school and work all the time.

Sometimes the stress of it all makes me feel like I might crack.

But I don’t.

I take pictures and buy apples.

This weekend I made some apple sauce, which in my case is actually just apple mush. I leave the peeling on and there are lots of apple chunks in it. I add a little vanilla, a little cinnamon, butter, lemon zest, sugar… I love it so.

Cooking in our new kitchen is so different than the old one. I feel a little disloyal saying that, but the old kitchen was so dark. It was in the interior of the house, with only one window far away from the counters. This kitchen is bright.

I can see over the backyard where hundreds of daffodils are confused and already trying to bloom. I can hear the birds. Winter isn’t so bad in this house.

I forced some azalea and forsythia branches on the windowsill above the sink. We took stock of the yard for the first time this weekend. Three Althea (or Rose of Sharon) bushes, a giant gardenia bush, 8 hydrangea bushes… I’ve died and gone to heaven. Have I mentioned the climbing hydrangea on a giant oak tree? The rose bushes?

Lord have mercy. I hope I don’t kill them all.

And nope, I didn’t watch the Superbowl. I’ve reached the stage of life where I don’t feel the need to say, “Oh, yes. I watch sports,” pretending like I’m one of those cool wives. I’m not a cool wife. I’ve stopped the charade. I don’t watch sports. I don’t wear jerseys. I don’t have a favorite team.

But I do love apples. Give me an apples jersey and I’ll be all about it.

We’ve had above average temps in the last few weeks. For those of you in the freezing north, that probably sounds like heaven. But for those of us native Arkansawers (kidding, Arkansans), it means only one thing: fear of tornadoes.

Tomorrow we’re supposed to have big storms. But today, I’m trying to just enjoy not wearing a coat. And our yard! I cannot wait until spring. There are seven hydrangea bushes I’ve found so far. Three rose bushes. Countless forsythia, AND a climbing hydrangea. Let’s all keep our fingers crossed I don’t kill them all.

I’m taking decorating a little more slowly than usual. That’s due to two reasons. 1. Money (of course) and 2. I want this house to look less put together and more accumulated. Does that make sense? Whenever I make knee jerk buying sprees at Target, I’m sorry I didn’t take my time and buy things at an antique mall instead. We did find an eight foot long credenza that’s home to our tv. It’s hand made, imported, and believe it or not… not painted. It’s teak and has a beautiful scalloped front. Ah. I love it so.

Several of you have emailed to ask how Mabel likes the new house. She loves the yard more than I do. She was an unhappy pup in the apartment, after living in a house for all of her life. Change does not come easily to a nine year old schnauzer. But she’s back in the groove, barking at squirrels. Peeing on flowers. It’s all good.

Breakfasts with Jane are an event lately. She talks so, so, so much. I’m assuming that’s my contribution to the genetic pool. I love it. She eats her bananas and chatters away at me. I nod and respond as if I know exactly what she’s saying. Mabel stalks under the table, waiting for just one crumb underneath Jane’s high chair.

Breakfasts are coming later each morning, mostly because her nights have been rough lately and she sleeps in. Here’s how it does down:

1. She goes to bed.

2. She wakes up around 4:00 calling so sadly “Mommy” and crying.

3. I cave and put her in bed with us.

4. My work as an actor begins as I pretend to be asleep so she’ll get the message that she too should snooze.

5. She snuggles into my arm and for a few minutes, it looks like she’s asleep. Success!

6. Not so fast. My acting skills continue to prove pointless as she jabs her pointer finger into my cheek, peering closely at my face.

7. She talks to herself for a while about her “big girl potty” and then she reaches through the darkness and inserts her pointer finger into my nostril.

8. I continue to play dead as she pats my hair, and then proceeds to grab my double chin and pinch.

9. I make a mental note to cut her talons at sunrise.

10. I feel her breath in my face as she puts her forehead to mine and whispers, “Mommy?”

11. The gig is up and I smile, and then she laughs.

It’s official. I’m a big wuss. A big, sleep deprived wuss.

Winter rain. I usually love it. This weekend, not so much.

Thank you for all your prayers and emails. We said our goodbyes to Uncle Trent yesterday. There were around 500 people at the funeral. He always loved a big crowd.

I found my camera. It was lost during our temporary apartment stay. I’m so glad to have her back. I walked around the house snapping a few shots, feeling more myself than I have been in months. Spring is far away, but it’s alive and well in this place.