You would think that Ezra’s intense adorability would be so all-consuming that I would never get anything else done. And you’d be right if by “anything else” you meant “cleaning the house” or “managing our household finances.”
There are certainly days when I look up and it’s 6 pm and I’m pretty sure I’ve been sitting on the kitchen floor all day repeating “babababaBA” over and over and over again while folding laundry, checking Facebook, and picking tiny bits of unswept garbage off my baby’s face. There are days when I yearn for him to take a nap, but then spend his nap doing nothing but, well, folding laundry and checking Facebook.
But then there are days when I hit the perfect balance of playing with Ezra and doing great stuff for myself and our home. I’m getting used to the new rhythms of my projects, which now take much longer and have to be done in shorter bursts. Over the course of a few weeks, after carefully and methodically cutting the fabric entirely wrong, I finally sewed a new pillow cover for our bedroom out of this and it makes me happy every time I go in our room.
I’m enjoying some new cooking projects, which are perfect to do as Ezra rolls around on the kitchen floor. I started making my own granola and yogurt. The granola is super easy. The yogurt is slightly more finicky, but I’m getting better at it. I can sort of say that I’m doing these things because they’re cheaper than store-bought, but that’s not the real reason (see above re: household finances). I just enjoy the feeling of creating something, of doing a certain set of steps to raw materials and having them magically transform.
One of the materials I like to magically transform is butter. Lots and lots of butter. Since a few months after Ezra was born, I’ve been wanting to bake all the time. Sandy abetted my butter addiction by giving me The Craft of Baking for Hanukkah. (Donna abetted it by selling me cut-price European butter out of her car.) OMG the brownies. I also got ambitious one weekend and made the brioche cinnamon rolls. The dough contained so much butter and so many eggs that it came to life and tried to eat my Cuisinart. It survived, and the rolls were unbelievable.
I’ve also gotten so much better at reading again. I made a serious commitment to reading only thrillers and mysteries and it’s working, getting me excited about trips to the library to pick up new stacks of heavy hardbacks. I’ve raced through some great ones (Case Histories, One Good Turn, and When Will There Be Good News? by Kate Atkinson, Restless by William Boyd, The Treatment by Mo Hayder) as well as the odd terrible one (The Secret Speech by Tom Rob Smith; his Child 44 was fabulous, but this new one was a hot mess).
You know you’re doing something right when you read two books in a row — while breastfeeding, of course — where someone plunges a pen through someone else’s eye, killing him instantly. Oh hell yes.