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I’m so glad you’re here. February was a bitch this year and you’re a sight for sore eyes.

I love you because you always bring me liberation. The extra daylight you give is a much needed dose of anti-depressant and the knowledge that full-on spring is near helps me breathe easier. Passover falls within your days and it always helps to officially close the door on winter and usher in the new season.

So far since you’ve been here I’ve:
started swimming classes with my two year old
visited with my brother (who lives on the other coast)

taken my boys on a tour of some of their mamma’s childhood landmarks

spent hours trying to remove Vaseline from my eleven year old’s hair. (Don’t waste your breath leaving me comments with your suggestions as to how this can be accomplished. I promise you if it’s a ‘trick’ for removing Vaseline from your hair, I already know about it.)
sorely neglected my dear blog
started designing three new website projects
attended the inaugural meeting of the NYC Metro Mod Quilter’s Guild
had lots of fun searching through overlooked photos to play along with ‘For the Love of Color’ week on Flickr

Before you leave I hope to:
photograph a dozen sunrises

put away my wool socks (until October)

watch my son in his first middle school play (guess what: It’s Grease. The Vaseline thing starting to make sense now?)
launch a new collaborative photo project with a friend
travel somewhere warm and tropical with my family
procrastinate about finishing a few lingering projects

paint my toenails pink.

Thanks for everything March.

Love,
Amy

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I’ve been quiet here because things are noisy at home.

Two boys. ‘Tween and toddler. No school. Cold weather. I was overwhelmed at the thought of it before it began so I enlisted some help. A few hours of babysitting. An extra set of hands. A luxury to be sure. But one we allowed ourselves this week. I believe it’s good for my kids. To be able to say goodbye to me for an hour. To learn that I’ll come back. To feel secure without me for a short time. (Or at least that’s what I tell myself.) And that it’s good for me, goes without saying.

And it’s not like we haven’t made the most of our time together—

A day spent in New York City. (It never stops being strange to be a visitor in my hometown.)

An unexpected snowfall.

Old friends are new again.

Breakfast in bed at the hands of my eldest.

Hours spent camping out in the living room.

Just your average commonplace February week.

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If you’ve reached this site and it doesn’t look right – it’s cause there are big changes going on. Please check back later to see the finished product and my apologies for any inconvenience.

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There’s a conversation a parent has with an adolescent. I know because it was had with me and I’ve now had it with The Older Boy. In a moment of sheer (pre-)teenage angst one looks around and thinks he/she sees everyone else having an easier time. Remember? Everyone else seemed to have more friends? This conversation is the one about how you’ll be lucky in life if you have two or three real friends—that anyone who appears to have more is just collecting acquaintances.

Recently while imparting this motherly wisdom it occurred to me (and not for the first time) how truly lucky I am in this regard.

I’m often caught in amazement in the wondrous women in my life. Mothers, friends, sisters, daughters, earners, homemakers, creative, talented, thoughtful women. And while I know that I’m blessed with them and thankful for the knowledge that I’m deserving of their friendship there’s still a moment occasionally when I can’t believe my good fortune.

I have friends who will bring me food when I’m sick. I have friends who will bring me food when I’m not sick. Friends who drive long distances to see my children. Friends who partake in my family gatherings. Friends who inspire my senses. Friends who teach me things. Friends who can be called at all hours. Friends who tell me the truth. Friends who feed the cat. Friends who know my secrets. Friends who share their secrets. Friends who have been there for absolutely ever. New friends who only know me as a mother. Friends who ask for difficult favors. Friends who surprise me and friends who make me laugh.

For all the parts of one’s self that get side-tracked or altogether fall by the wayside when one becomes a mother, I have never ever not been fulfilled by the women in my life. And so in the spirit of this month of giving thanks I thank you, the women in my life for what you give to me every day.

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