What's in store

Something about October always makes me miss having a store. Probably because this was the month when all of the good stuff came in and I would spend every waking second on merchandising. By November 1st, the displays would be loaded, not just with holiday merchandise, but with the best of the best of everything we carried, and a few surprises. The holiday season is when people splurge, so setting the stage with that mentality was always fun.

I spotted an empty retail space in Wellesley last week, so I've been tossing around store names. They're all horrible, but that's okay. I've got some time to work on it. We opened our last place without financing, but real estate is crazy expensive around here, so that isn't likely to happen any time soon.

So I am not working on holiday displays, but this week I decorated our front door for Halloween. I gathered some branches from our yard and made an arch over the doorway, draped a dollar bag of spider cotton over it, and hung some skulls. I love how it turned out a little Day of the Dead.

You'll notice that we still don't have pumpkins. We went to a farm this weekend, but the ones there weren't very inspiring. The best ones I've seen so far are at Trader Joes, so that might end up being our pumpkin picking excursion this year.

I keep telling myself that this non-working time in my life is just a season. Like Halloween, it will soon be over and I'll be on to the next thing. For now I'm writing some decent fiction and reading a ton. I'm just beginning to figure out new freelance opportunities. The kids are settled and we have enough of everything, even without me working.

It's really not the actual situation that bothers me, as much as the not knowing what's in store for the future. And that's just silly, isn't it? None of us really know.

Down, from head to toe

I've started coat shopping. I have coats of course, but not real coats. I have boots, but not real boots. And my cute knit Anthro hat? I am pretty sure it won't get me past November.

So the process has begun. To be warm enough, I am pretty sure I am going to have to get a little ugly. The first trip through the coat racks didn't go so well, I left the store with a lovely calf length gray leopard wool dress coat and a pretty pair of red gloves.

Not very practical, but so fabulous. And I will need it for a fancy night out, right? You know, because with the two kids, I have a ton of those on the horizon.

I might need a winter-vention.

Happy Holidays?

This week the temperature has been in the mid-fifties during the day and in the high forties at night, just like Thanksgiving in Georgia or Christmas in Arizona. I have a strange urge to pop a turkey in the oven.

This will be our first winter in Boston and we've been trying to be proper New Englanders about the weather. That means no complaining (early on anyway, I hear in March all bets are off), and no turning on the heat this early. Or so we thought. After a quick poll of the neighborhood, turns out everyone turned on the heat two days ago. Why didn't we get the memo?

We have radiators and it only took a few minutes to take the chill out of the air. I love radiator heat. Love it so much I could hug it. Except I can't hug it, of course, because ouch. But seriously, radiant heat is toasty. I am sure there are some practical reasons why everyone has gotten rid of it. Like those horrible glare-ish light bulbs we all have to switch to by 2014 (and I might be hoarding the old bulbs, but that's another post), forced air heat is probably more efficient somehow, but the old fashioned way just feels nicer. And as a bonus, the pipes heat up the basement.

I took a peek at the forecast and it looks like it isn't going to warm up again. Until March. Or April. Maybe I'll pretend it's one long ongoing holiday season.

Cookie anyone?

Lost

I have always had a pretty good sense of direction. If I've been somewhere once, I can usually remember how to get back, and if I have a general idea of where something is, I can find it. My brain just works that way.

I wish I could apply that characteristic, and my confidence in it, to my life. Lately I have been worrying about the whole back to work situation. The plan is that I will go back again when Little Guy starts kindergarten, which is two years away. There are some things I need do to prepare for that. Freelance writing? Back to school? MFA? Retail? Start my own business again or work for a corporation? There are many options, but I am a little lost.

Left or right? Full or part-time?

I think I need a map.

Eight is enough

Girlie is at the perfect age. If I could figure out a way to freeze her at 8, I might be tempted to do it. The spot-on commentary,the endless supply of positive energy, the gaps in her smile where the teeth are missing, the hair long and natural and curling at the ends, the snarky but not too snarky sense of humor. Last week , she finally learned to turn a cartwheel at gymnastics. She's fantastic really.

I read to both of the kids every night before bed. Since Girlie likes older books (we're halfway through the Narnia series), I read to them individually. More often than not, Hubs is out of town and by the time I get to her, I have wrestled Little Guy through the dinner, bath, PJs, teeth, books, bed thing and I am completely exhausted.

On my way to her room at night, I almost always wish I could skip reading to her. She's old enough to shower, jump into PJ's, and do the whole routine herself. She can read to herself too, and often does. So I almost always think about bagging on the book time and heading for the couch to spend a little time with Don Draper and a brimming glass of cabernet. But then, I get to her room and there she is with that little gappish smile and I can't. I don't.

Sometimes we talk after the books. Last night she told me about a boy in her class. She's not old enough to like any of them yet, but this guy sits at her lunch table and she says he's pretty nice. What makes him nice I ask? She tells me that he's a good listener, you know, for a boy. I tell her I do know.

Can we just stick with eight?