Yarn Along No. 1

I'm very excited to be linking up with Ginny at Small Things, one of my very favorite blogs, for my first Yarn Along!  I have been hesitant to do this because (1) I almost always knit at night, and can never manage to get well-lit photos of my knitting and (2) I tend to read on an e-reader,* which also doesn't lend itself to pretty photography.  While I figure that dilemma out, for now I'll include a blurry Instagram photo of the sweater and a copied image of Wolf Hall, my new read.

I just cast on my very first project for baby girl!  I love knitting for my boys, and almost done with a second Norwegian Star hat for Finn (I just need to block it), but there is something special about knitting for a newborn baby girl, isn't there?  This photo is of the start of a super-simple Seamless Yoked Baby Sweater in Sublime Baby Cashmerino in the Pebble colorway.  Of course, the world of pinks and yellows and pastels is finally open to me, and I choose to knit something the color of a rock on the beach.  Oh well, I love babies in neutrals!  And this yarn is lovely - so soft and silky. 

I knit one of these tiny sweaters back in 2005 - it was one of my very first projects, for a charity drive while I was in law school.  It is terribly easy to knit, and I just love the yoking around the neck and sleeves, so I couldn't wait to make a version for my own baby girl. 

 





Photo source.

I've been reading a lot lately, mostly on my looong train rides to and from work.  In the past couple of weeks I've finished Evelyn Waugh's Sword of Honor (long! and a bit of a slog through endless details about military maneuverings in parts, but worth it in the end), Elizabeth Strout's Olive Kitteridge (mesmerizing, fast read of interconnected short stories set in a small town in Maine, loved it), and Bryan Peterson's Understanding Exposure (excellent!  I loved this guide to photography, and I am NOT a tech person).  I was a little intimidated to start Wolf Hall - any book that begins with a multi-page list of characters and complicated timelines tends to stress me out.  But I'm a few chapters in, and can't believe how brilliant it is already.  I find most historical fiction, especially about the Tudors and court intrigue, to be too melodramatic for me, but this is so, so well done. 

*Does anyone else have a love/hate relationship with e-readers?  I love that I can read my books, newspapers, magazines, websites, work documents, and email all in one place, especially since I do most of my reading while commuting and don't like to have to lug a bunch of stuff around.  But I MISS books!  The pretty cover art, the feel of the pages, being able to read in the bathtub . . .  I usually have a print book or two lying around, but it just isn't the same.  And it's almost impossible to support local bookstores as much as I would like if I'm buying e-books.  What to do?



Magic

Silly city dog doesn't know about freezing creeks.

It's official - we're house-hunting.  Buying a house probably shouldn't be such an exciting happening for a 32-year-old; most people are probably homeowners for close to a decade at this point in their lives.  But I was a New Yorker for most of my twenties, and New Yorkers are renters (unless they are very, very rich, which we are not).  Jon and I have rented six homes in the past eight years, not counting dorm rooms - and yes, that means that we have moved almost every year, even since we started having babies.  I am desperate to unpack and stay that way.  And we've found a few towns that we (amazingly) agree could work for us - rural but with good schools, a decent commute to his job and a possible one for mine, and pretty.  So, so, so pretty.  Horses and apple orchards and stone walls kind of pretty.  The houses themselves, on the other hand - well, there's the problem.  Our budget is very limited for our area, and we have a fairly ambitious wish list.  Jon's is practical - he worries about things like oil heat and repairs and cracked foundations.  I'm more like Jane's father in Jane of Lantern Hill:

"Let's sum up ... a little house, white and green or to be made so ... with trees, preferably birch and spruce ... a window looking seaward ... on a hill. That sounds very possible ... but there is one other requirement. There must be magic about it, Jane ... lashings of magic." 

                                     --- L.M. Montgomery, Jane of Lantern Hill

Lashings of magic - and I'll know it when I see it. 

Adding to that bit of totally irresponsible wish-listing - one of the towns we are considering, the one I really, really, really want, is the former home of Louisa May Alcott.  No big deal.  Nope.  I would not pay extra just to live in a town where the author of Little Women lived.  That would be ridiculous.  Completely out of the question.  I'm lying, I would do it so fast.  And of course, that's the town that's just the tiniest bit out of our price range, meaning that I can see a few conversations like this in the future:

Practical husband: "This house was built in 1750 and the roof leaks and the floors are crooked."

Me: "But can't you just picture Jo and Teddy running down that lane?"

Practical husband: "What the eff are you talking about?"

So we'll see!  In the meantime, we're going stir-crazy with snowstorm after snowstorm.  It's almost too deep for the littles to play in, but we try:  

Should have warned him about the incoming snowball - took the picture instead.

winter bugs and nostalgia

Poor loves.  Jon was driving them to daycare this morning, and Finn started vomiting uncontrollably in the back seat.  Conor, in solidarity, joined in.  He's either the most empathetic child in the world, or I suppose it's possible that he inherited a few of his parents competitive genes.  Ahem. 

Oh, and we have an epic blizzard arriving tomorrow!  So Jon is out stocking up on Pedialyte, bananas and firewood before we get snowed in and it becomes a true quarantine.  I hope they feel better by Saturday so we can get in a little of this:

I am so happy to be experiencing a New England winter again, after more than ten years of living away.  I so badly want my children to have a sense of place, of being from here (even though they were born as Brooklyn babies!)  For a New Englander, seasons are so much a part of that, of forming those place-specific memories, and when we have a ridiculously mild winter like the last one I start to panic that it's all going away.  Because I am secretly a hundred years old and worried about how times are changing.  But it's true!  I remember so clearly the joy of snow days off from school, and carefully crawling along rocky jetties at the beach to collect mussels and periwinkles for a summer family cook-out, and the smell of my cousin's cider mill in the fall . . . I want them to have a little bit of that. I want it to get into their blood, the way it is in mine.  So even if they choose to live far away from here someday (nooooooo!) it will still always be home.

But, despite the pre-storm winter love, I have to admit that I'm already thinking ahead to summer and sandals and fresh fruit that wasn't imported from Mexico and playing outside and our garden and it taking less than 20 minutes to get out the door - and non-maternity clothes!  Oh yes, and a new little baby to snuggle.  Can't wait. 

balance

There are weeks when I feel like I have this working mom thing under control.  Let me be clear - it never feels good, or right, or happy.  For me, work-life balance so far (I've been working full-time, with kids, for three years now) means that (1) my family isn't doing so great because I'm gone too much and, at the same time (2) my bosses are angry that I'm not at work more.  I don't think "everyone being equally let down" is the kind of balance anyone has in mind, but so far that's all I've been able to achieve.  That terrifically depressing realization aside, the logistics at least generally run smoothly, almost entirely due to the efforts of my amazing husband.  But last week - not so much.

First, I insisted on trying to slavishly copy be inspired by Jessica's beautiful winter wonderland-themed birthday party for my 2-year old, down to the different types of winter-themed marshmallows for our hot chocolate.  Of course, this resulted in me attempting to bake a cake, from scratch, and decorate it with hand-made candies, while simultaneously writing a brief that was due at midnight the night before the party.  A sensible person would have just called the grocery store and been done with it, but I so badly wanted to make my little man a cake, so I did both.  Nothing remotely stressful about dealing with a partner's e-mailed edits to a brief while trying to get frosting to set, nope.  I did not have a nervous breakdown, because who has time for that?  But it was tempting.  And the cake didn't even taste that good (but it looked so pretty!  You'll have to take my word for it, I have NO photos).

Then on Friday Finn had a slight fever, so both boys stayed home from daycare and I stayed home from work.  I had to take a conference call with co-workers in the middle of the afternoon, which would normally have coincided nicely with Finn's naptime but, because he was sick, was actually right when he woke up early and so, so cranky.  I tried to stick both boys in front of a video so I could take the call, which seemed to work well until I realized that I had not been on mute the entire time, as I had thought.  So my co-workers were treated to a lot of hissed "Finn, do NOT touch that screen!  Do you want to sit on the stairs?  Please, please, please, Conor, I just need 10 more minutes.  I know, handsome, I know.  I love you.  Please hush.  Did you just hit the dog with a light saber?  Hasn't he earned more respect than that?!"  etc.  My colleagues were dears and didn't call me on it, but oh, the humiliation when I realized.  I was just so glad the call wasn't with a judge, or a client, or opposing counsel, but still.

From what I can tell, at least in my field, the trick to pulling off working as a mom is for your colleagues to never see the mask slip, to never know that it's hard or you're tired or you're leaving work early because of a pediatrician appointment.  Basically, to never let them know you have kids.  (At my last job we were encouraged (instructed?) not to display any photos of our kids on our desks.  Charming, no?)  I know it's messed up and crazy, but I don't know when it's ever going to change.

On a happier note, here's what's cooking in the Burke kitchen:

Irish soda bread!  Here's the recipe.  A couple of variations - I use bread flour instead of all-purpose, and I only put 2 tbs of sugar in the dough, instead of 4.  I also don't sprinkle any on top - Jon hates sweets, the monster.  Late for the feast of St. Brigid, early for the feast of St. Patrick, but no matter - I make it every week around here because it's Jon's favorite.  And one of mine, too, though it should be strictly off-limits since I'm now 26 weeks pregnant and already at my goal weight for this pregnancy.  But holding steady for 3 more months should be no problem at all.  : )  Speaking of which, check out this ridiculous belly:

I mean, come on.  How on earth can it keep growing for three more months without me tipping over?  The sheer physics of the thing seem impossible to me.  In fact, while I was reaching behind the computer monitor to plug in my phone my belly pressed against the keyboard and typed a string of numbers into this post, all on its own.  Out of control.  (Also, I now know why I have never taken a self-portrait in the bathroom mirror, or any mirror for that matter - the awkwardness!  How so many ladies do it while looking cute and relaxed and not at all like they are worried about the angle of their hips or their weird eyebrows or whether or not to smile is beyond me.)