quotidian delight.

love (no. 2)

We wake up and turn on the classical station, mostly just ritual at this point. She chomps her vitamin gummies, we sip our coffee. We read the Pooh book for the millionth time. We all go to the gym for band meeting¹. We lay down for an almost-nap.

She announces she needs to use the potty (win), drags it over to the kitchen where I am cooking, poops while watching me put lunch together (win), eats almost an entire quesadilla (win). We go to the store, I linger a beat too long near the frozen desserts, I’ve been wanting ice cream for weeks. She asks, I concede. We go to the post office and she removes handfuls of gift cards from an eye-level rack while I pack a box for my friend. The tape sticks to itself. My eyes flit back and forth between her and the package, attempting to give my full attention to each. A tall, important-looking man trips over his feet trying to skirt past her in the aisle. Kids will humble you like that. Deflate your dignity. Make your tall spine curl. Trigger involuntary deceleration. He shoots me a frustrated glance as he steps around her. We put the gift cards back, one by one.

She starts playing in one of the empty garden beds on the way inside the house, scattering handfuls of dirt as she scoops it from one spot to another. Important work, but I am carrying six overflowing bags of groceries and my bladder is about to explode. Letsgoletsgoletsgo baby, my hands are full! I clip at her, over and over; otay, otay! she says, and shuffles after me. Close the door, please! I say, cold air pouring in as she dawdles on the stoop. Lines from the Marie Howe poem rise up in my mind in guilty plumes as I usher her indoors. I unload the groceries, start chopping the vegetables, check to see how defrosted the chicken is. We decide we will go to the playground. This is a good plan, we could both use some fresh air and movement, but she quickly becomes immersed in her own play-world, speaking to her stuffed animals in urgent, hushed tones, gathering unexpected objects to include in her story— Quirkle tiles, a small painted box, magnetic letters, a lacrosse ball. I stand there staring at her, hovering, ready to transition, then finally go relax into some other task. Let her have her own timeline for once.

Eventually we are walking uphill through the gray air, her turquoise windbreaker shining out like a jewel. Eventually life is slow enough to meet her where she is. She nibbles crackers as we plod along, bite by tiny bite, and it seems as though she has to think very hard about walking and eating at the same time, like trying to pat your head and rub your belly in unison. I find this adorable. On the way home, she tells me casually, with joyful confidence, that someday, when she is older, she will have boobies and be able to nurse her own babies. She is absolutely tickled by the possibility of this. I find this adorable, too.

We eat dinner, which is like pulling teeth, but we do it. We clean up the living room, which is like pulling teeth, but we do it. Later, I dole out orange ice cream and scatter it with rainbow sprinkles. This is good! I like ice cream, she declares with sweet simplicity. As if liking ice cream is subjective. We follow the orange ice cream with an orange-scented bubble bath. The double orange pleases me. She is freshly thrilled by the suds and how they move around her body. I pile them high onto her belly and shoulders, I blow them into the air and we laugh like we are very old friends who are in on some decades-old private joke, and I love the luxury of it all, the ice cream, the bubble bath, the way her perfect little body seems so settled in its own existence, how I get to watch her savor her life. We play goblins² when dad gets home. When it is time for bed, she collapses into sleep within five minutes of lying down. What did I do before this. What did it matter.

last summer.

---

Recently:

1. ICYMI,

   Jan
   from The Mother Letters interviewed me last month for her February Digest— you can read the whole thing here!

2. I want to paint the fence rainbow colors, I want to start seeds and not abandon them, I want to open all the windows, I want to build my daughter a mud kitchen, I want to spray paint the cheap plastic ADK chairs that we bought off marketplace, I want to wash the rugs, I want to start projects I have no time for, I want to go outside sleeveless and not shiver.

3. I watched the movie C’mon C’mon, it was very sweet and good. I almost made it through the whole thing without crying, but that went out the window at the last line.

4. I *also* wept through just about the entire “Elder Mother” section of the book Wild Mothering, which I just finished reading.

5. Other good stuff I’ve read recently:

   Initiation

   In Praise of the “Whoopsie” Baby

   You Can’t Be Woven Into the Web of Life Without Being Bound

   what to cook for a meal train

   the crone and her baby

   Wood & Bone

6. Apparently this is a TikTok thing, my neighbor showed it to me but tart cherry magnesium mocktails are where it’s at!

7. Ruthlessly purging everything!!! If you wanna help me get rid of stuff/are interested in some cool vintage dresses, take a look at my Poshmark closet.

8. Jake Xerxes Fussell covers Arthur Russell:

9. This is how I feel whenever I try to leave a “thoughtful comment” on someone’s Substack post, being online makes me even more awkward???

   

10. My ADHD renaissance man of a husband is currently very into leather working (other talents include: greenwood carving, furniture making, macrophotography, archery, the list goes on… most annoyingly, he seems to be naturally talented at every new hobby he picks up, it’s very unfair) — anyways, he is currently making sheepskin slippers for our daughter, dying and embroidering them himself. Have a look:

    

11. Me, as evidenced by my very first Substack post:

gus.heagerty

A post shared by @gus.heagerty

(truly though, The Artist’s Way IS magic, and you SHOULD write your screenplay…)

1. Band Meeting, inspired by Murray’s band meetings in Flight of the Conchords, is an end-of-week, hour-long sit-down between my husband and I. We touch base, check in with each other, talk about upcoming plans, financial stuff, hopes, needs and to-do’s for the week, go through piles of ignored mail, etc. We have been doing this (on and off) since our daughter was maybe 4 months old, and it has been very useful for keeping track of everything.

(yes we do roll call — Berlin, present!)

2. It’s exactly what it sounds like.