I tend to write about failed doctor’s visits, grocery shopping, preschool volunteering demands, obscene craft projects and the public library. Scintillating stuff.
I spend my days with three small boys. And one big boy. Trying hard not to swear when I stub my big toe on Lego. Gnawing on my fist when all my floss is unraveled and abandoned on the floor. (Happened again, today.) Memorizing family dialogue for blog purposes. Taking pictures of my cherubs. Finding the funny in the crazy and the crazy in the funny.
Before there were children in my life, I liked to eat good food prepared by other people (aka restaurants). I liked pretty things. And I enjoyed using my passport for purposes other than crossing the US-Canadian border. Now, I spend my days thinking about food because it seems like someone, somewhere, is always hungry. I wear clothes from the Superstore mixed with a handful of items from Target. The Merona brand, not the cool sold-out-in-a-minute collaboration brands. And I spend my summers driving between Canada and Indiana in a rusty Chevy Venture.
I don’t smoke, but I do bake. Not sure which is worse, really.
