Well, this is a weird feeling. I don’t remember the last time things felt so normal around here, like we are actually doing what we are going to be doing for the next couple of years. I am not anxious about anything. I’m not overly excited about anything. I’m not bored or over-scheduled or trying to figure things out. I’m just being me. Running early in the morning, making breakfast, doing dishes, getting the boys dressed and out to go shopping or to the museum or institute or to do laundry, changing diapers, potty training, putting the boys down for naps, making dinner, trying to keep up with friends via e-mail and blogs and phone, planning Primary stuff, trying out new things (knitting, at the moment).You know. The usual.
In the back of my mind there are some things that I keep thinking about, but they are the unknowable things, things that I just have to be patient about and for the first time in . . . forever? I’m feeling fine with just waiting, just being. It is fun to speculate on how things will go, but I don’t feel the need to obsess about how much longer we can live in New York and where we will end up when we leave, or what our family will be like in 10 years, or when I’m going to be able to start (really) writing again and what my career will be like when the kiddies aren’t sapping my brain power 97% of the day.
I am content. And it’s lovely.