We have just built a barricade out of an old cardboard box. It comes up to my knees and wraps around the computer desk and the legs of my chair so that Leo can't stickify my legs and computer. He climbs up the side of the cardboard and pokes his head over the top so that only his eyes are visible. Then he giggles like a girl and pops out of sight again.
We've had a good summer so far. Most days we run in the mornings (I run. Leo rides in style), then hop in the pool for an hour or so. While Leo sleeps I try to finish things, like dishes and laundry and my epic middle grade novel.
I went to my conference, rubbed elbows with some excellent writers and editors and the literary agent of my dreams (Mary Kole of kidlit.com), and came home with many excellent ideas for rewrites. I've only taken that thing out once in the past month but I'm still a writer.
Earlier this summer we visited Jon's sister in Arizona, where it was too hot to breathe. We went to the zoo and swam and learned about Indians (the teepee kind, not the outsourcing kind). We watched Dr. Who and played games and saw cacti and went on an art walk. Lovely.
There were cousins and monkeys and plenty of dirt-eating.
Just kidding. That wasn't from Arizona. That was from Washington. I meant this one:
But yes, weeks later we went to the Jensen corner of the country, up to Orcas Island by car and by ferry and, for Jon, by little plane. We kayaked and combed the chilly beaches for crabs.
We hiked around waterfalls and walked through the shops on the island, we even treated ourselves to Bumbleberry pie at Passionate for Pies. Of course, we ate far too much, but that is just the way of the Jensens. Fat.
Since then it's been Jon's season for work. He was offered a job today. There would be a long daily commute, which he'd probably take by bus, but it seems like a good fit so far. He may just take it.
As for me, I've done a lot of home-maker-ish type things lately. Mostly it's because Leo won't let me sit down at the computer (as soon as I do he's squawking and squealing such awful sounds). He prefers to sit at my feet in the kitchen and pull towels and rubbermaids out of the within-reach drawers while I do whatever it is I can do while he's distracted.
And so I've spent plenty of time in the kitchen. I do the dishes almost, nearly, close to every day (which is a thing I never thought I'd say). But I also have started to teach myself the art of canning (which is also a thing I never thought I'd say). I'm fascinated by the whole process. I think of that crate of apricots from the back of
the fridge now packed away in tight glass jars, stirred up with cardamom and poured through a funnel. I'll pull it out in winter months and try to remember when my feet burned on the sidewalk after jumping out of the pool.
And by then, by then we'll live in a house.
And so we're moving at the end of this month. To a house. A house with a fireplace and wood floors and a yard with rose bushes. It also has a crumbling sidewalk out front and a patch of weeds around the side that could rival a jurassic rainforest, which might be why it's within our price range. Still, I'll have room to stretch and stow my books. We'll finally have a room to use as a study. Right now the computer just hangs out wherever. I'll finally have workspace, a room of my own to tack over with book ideas and pictures of places I want to write.
I've already started packing, but July can't limp along fast enough.
We will, as always, keep you posted.
Eventually.
