Watching…the snow melt in the backyard. It seems spring is slowly edging its way into the neighborhood. The first bulbs are poking up from the waterlogged earth, the whole world smells like mud (which we all know smells like spring), and my boys are warming up to the idea of playing outside again.
Enjoying…tiny baby smiles from Eli. Yes, this child whose eyes have been betraying his heart finally worked up the cheek muscles and burst forth with a gummy grin. He’s been peering at me with these happy eyes for about a week now but was stalling out at the mouth portion of the smile. Now, though, he’s mastered this first act of charm. Work just got a whole lot harder to get done with another Morgan boy vying for my heart.
Planning…adventures for the boys this summer and spring. Camping! Airplane rides! Books to read! Food to make! What will it be like to have a child home on summer vacation? I don’t know, but I’m planning on making it one heck of a summer.
Cooking…aforementioned Blueberry Crisp. I’ll probably also try to make Brannon’s Caesar Salad and Sullivan Street Bread this week. Y’all. Buy the book. It’s part memoir/part cookbook…which incidentally makes for one warm and cozy, fun and friendly read.
Pinning…all kinds of recipes and projects and inspiration. It seems like my creativity is coming alive again after being consumed with creating the most valuable things of all (a person!). I know this season too well though to be tricked again. I’m entering into the ideation phase–which will lead to the “pent up phase”, all ideas and no energy to execute. That is the most frustrating season of all, and will result in much crankiness and most likely monologues to husband and friends about how I’ll likely never create anything again. This is not true, and I’ll also have to be reminded of that.
Inspired by…white! Lots of white. Springy fresh white.
Remembering…when I’m feeling panicky that the boys are growing too quickly and time is passing at a frightening pace, taking a picture soothes and reminds me that to a mother her child appears to her as every age he’s ever been (Anne Lamott).