I’ve really got nothing.
I open up the “add new post” page several times a day, and I look at the blinking line.
I type. I erase. I type some more. I erase.
Life is clicking along. We are finding our new happy medium. Our middle of the road where it feels normal for homework to be done to the sounds of Shannon Curtis and Lenka. It is normal to jump in the pool right when we walk into the house after the long, sweaty walk up the hill from school – swimsuits optional (meaning we jump in with our clothes, NOT that we are swimming nekkid!).
I’m knee deep in helping plan an upcoming trip to Korea for the big boys on the football team. I’ve volunteered for two million other things, but you knew I would, right? You knew my normal in Singapore would not entail bridge club and ladies’ lunches. Right?
As is normal with me, I am a packrat and am finding that we are living in our new home, again with too many things. Too much is cluttering our space and I intend to sort that out, straight away. It’s driving me crazy, and lord knows it is driving poor Levy crazy.
My normal also seems to include a perpetual 3,000 + pictures in my “to do” folder. What is up with that? I can’t ever seem to get through the pictures and as much as I wrinkle my nose when I talk about having lived in Delhi, the first several hundred photos in my untouched photo folder are of the last memories and last moments from our time there. That says something.
Our weekend normal has been soccer and American football (I cringe internally when I have to type American before football, because it just doesn’t seem right that football is soccer. Soccer, is soccer, right? We have four games left for football and as weird as it sounds, we are swapping from wearing yellow and cheering Bulldogs to donning the green and cheering Falcons. (Strange, yes).
Normal means searching 10s of stores in search of size 13 football cleats. “Ma’am, there are no football cleats on the Island” we were told. Normal means being able to order fresh chicken and pork … delivered to my doorstep for a FRACTION of the price of that saran-wrapped stuff.
It means adjusting to having the Husb home for the weekends only. Driving on the right side of the car, and the other side of the road. It’s remembering how to function in a house where you are never quite alone, and your helper is an extension of yourself, and always right there.
One of these days, normal will mean writing on a more consistent basis and getting my mojo back, instead of just posting visit and trip accounts. Normal will also soon mean me sharing what I’m doing to make a difference in Singapore.
Normal is starting to be a more …. normal thing for me.