O, new house, I sing of thee. I'm so in love with this house that I've re-joined the FlyLady system to keep it clean. I'm so in love that I don't mind the hell I go through trying to sleep through the eerie midnight noises. I'm so in love that I want to impress it with fresh-cooked meals and promptly-done dishes. And the greatest part is that the Boy is right there along with me, loving the house and trying his best to start off our new chapter with the right opening lines.
Yesterday night while the boys played in the study with a Star Wars board game, I sat in my knitting room and garter-stitched a new dishcloth while jazz radio poured up and down the stairs like a river of mellow. The moment was so perfect that it was threaded through with melancholy: it was too perfect to ever come again. There mush be a German word for that.
Labels: house rich
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Don't make me send out the Blake. He doesn't listen to *anyone.*