rainy day.

It rained for the third day straight today.

A little family of chirpy birds has taken refuge somewhere within the walls of our swamp cooler. I'm loving the cheerful chatter in my hallway. They are making things feel very spring -ish despite the 45 degree weather.

I am so tired. It turns out that my most recent blood test determined that I am quite anemic these days. Which is not good, but is sort of a relief as it explains the 2-3 hour naps I have felt are necessary to my survival over the past few weeks. (That would be a 2-3 hour nap in addition to a 9-10 hour night of sleep! Ha ha!) I thought it was all in my head, and that I was just being one heck of a lazy little slug!

We don't let the dogs out much when it's raining like this. You know, pregnant nose... wet dog smell...not a great combo.

As a result, Bella is getting a little stir crazy. She paces the floor. Goes downstairs. Comes upstairs. Goes downstairs. Comes upstairs. Nips at Bubbuh's heels in hopes of egging him into a little tussle. Flips her rope up onto my lap a minimum of 30 times an hour. Whines at the glass door...

Poor little Border Collie. She needs a herd of sheep and an open range, pronto! But alas, all she has is me and a lazy Golden Retriever, and neither of us are nearly so obliging as sheep.

Bubbuh is another sort of being entirely. He is perfectly content to snooze at my side as I read Julia Child's (delicious) biography "My Life in France" for hours on end. Have you heard of "My Life in France" Oh...just divine. I want to go to there. I want to shop in a Paris farmer's market. I want to walk aged streets and eat for hours with good friends in cozy little restaurants. Heck, Julia Child's words are so beautiful, and lovely, and charming, and engaging, I almost want to kill, pluck, and skin a chicken with my bare hands. (I said almost...and the fact that I would even consider "almost" doing ANYTHING that gruesome in nature should tell you how fascinating I find her reminiscences.)

Julia Child makes something I would consider to be absolute drudgery (aka spending 5 + hours in the kitchen making a sauce or stock) sound as meaningful as painting the Mona Lisa. Now that's passion. That's love. And I think that when you love anything that deeply - no matter what it is, it becomes a sacred thing in and of itself. Julia makes cooking sound downright sacred, and while I can't really justify spending 6-12 hours in the kitchen every day, it certainly gives me pause and makes me think about what is most meaningful to me. What work do I love most? What work, when done right, do I find MOST fulfilling? I don't have to think very long or hard. It is definitely the work of motherhood. And while I'm doing really great in certain areas, there are others that could certainly use some improvement.

{My humble little front yard garden}

As I read about Julia's dedicated commitment to (and almost obsession with) making each recipe perfect,I couldn't help but wonder how I could apply that same level of tenacity, self examination, and drive to my job as a wife and mother. I've come up with some rather exciting conclusions and goals in response. (But more on that later.)

On a different note, Kort came home from school early today. He was showing off in the lunchroom and ate too many grilled cheese sandwiches and felt pretty crummy come 1:00 p.m. So off to the office he went. The secretary gave me a call and asked if I could come pick him up. Due to the fact that I hadn't gotten ready whatsoever today, I sent his father.

When he got home, I tucked him into bed and turned on "The Tale of Despereaux." He LOVES the novel and therefore LOVES the movie. He was quiet and content (well, mostly) for the next 5 hours as he flipped through easy reader books, and watched two full movies. There WAS the occasional plea to play with a friend, but we have a strict policy of "No friends on sick days." He insisted that he felt "much better" but alas, the rule is firm about these sorts of things.

Then, he'd had it with being indoors. And it was pouring outdoors. Out came the umbrella and off he went. It's amazing to me that I can be so darn sick of rain that I could scream, and then, with the splash of a shoe, and the laugh of a boy, and the click of a camera, it suddenly feels happy, and fun, and special, and "memory-making." No wonder I love photography.

I'm so glad that I get to be his mom.

So glad to have someone in my life that makes an ordinary rainy day feel like magic.