It’s been a long time. I’d guess since around December 2010 when I found out I was pregnant with my first child, Silas.
Yes, first—there’s another, a girl: Nola.
I’m in a new (owned, not rented) house in a new (not really, just revisited) city.
I am home, and home is a deeper, more resonant, more valuable, more tiring, more home-like place.
I came back to this space not out of nostalgia, but maybe because it is a placemarker. There’s comfort knowing that the places one creates on the Internet hang around often enough for you to return. They barely look up, they aren’t dusty or worn, they are exactly the same.
And it’s comforting.
I come here because I started writing about my children and stopped writing about everything else. Or if I tried to write about everything else I felt that I should be writing about my children. I’d pigeonholed myself and my 5-person-strong audience.
I’m most certainly not a mommy blogger, I am barely a writer and more often a bedraggled mother. It’s not the same, and there’s (thankfully) no DSLR to capture it.
It’s been years, and it goes without saying that these months days weeks hours have brought forth within me so much newness and challenge that maybe even this small blinking cursor doesn’t know me.
I’m okay with that.
No, no. I love that.
So, again—allow me to type my scattered thoughts, my recipes, my revelations, my words.
These crumbs, my offering to a space that never knew I left.