Tag Archives: relationship

Remembering the reasons

The last time we moved {almost two years ago} we didn’t unpack our numerous boxes of books. Our reasoning? We cannot have bookshelves with toddlers without anchoring them to the walls. And we didn’t want to do that… because we didn’t think we’d be here that long. Oh and space, we have no space for bookshelves.

Fast forward to knowing we’ll be here for three years total.

I miss my books.

So over the weekend I went searching through hundreds of books for one or two in particular. I went through every single box, because {of course} the specific few I went looking for were in the last box, in the way back of the second thoroughly disected closet, under about six other boxes. In the process, I found about a dozen others that just had to be brought out. Some were mine, but most were my husbands. You see, between my Political Science degree with an English minor, and his English major, we have quite the collection.

Through a closet and two rooms  I called out “Hey, how was Gandhi’s autobiography?”, “did you know you had so many of Kerouac’s books?” and I might have muttered something along the lines of “how many works of Shakespeare can two people possibly own?” They all took me back.

All of those books played an instrumental role in the story of Corinne & Lucas. The first time I saw his apartment I was in love. It was perfect. It was located on a gorgeous street in a historical old New England town. He resided on the top floor of a renovated house, centuries old, with angled ceilings and tiny windows. A view of the street, without the noise, where you could see the snow on the town common accompanied by dog walkers and couples taking a brisk February stroll. But while it had all the staples of a bachelor pad {you know… dvd’s, video games, bare fridge, the just cleaned for a date smell…} it also had books. Rows and rows of books.

And I love books.

We sat and talked about different titles. I stole several minutes staring at the antique works and finely bound collections. The man had books. And he actually read them. He showed me albums of places that he’d been, told me stories of traveling through Europe alone, he came to life as he exposed his love of road trips, nature, and art. It wasn’t one of those first date shows, there was something so sincere and passionate about all that he had done, and all that he wanted to do.

I loved him.

And over the weekend as I got my answers to the questions I called out, “It’s good if you want to know what Gandhi ate” and “yes, I know” and even “did you say something?” I felt this warm fuzzy feeling that you get when you remember a forgotten reason. I smiled to myself several times looking through our collection. At points you could tell which one came from where, a definite his and hers; but the more years we’re together the more the divide dwindles.

I miss our books.

And I still love him.


Please visit Emily at Chatting at the Sky for more Tuesday’s Unwrapped. You’ll find simple moments and simple mysteries unwrapped in everyday life. Enjoy!


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Lessons from long ago

It came out of nowhere today. One minute I was making eggplant parmesan (a successful attempt to redeem myself from yesterdays dinner disaster…) and the next I was yelling. It was just all too much. My hands were covered in eggs and breadcrumbs, I had two cookie sheets worth of eggplant ready to put in the oven, but not enough room to move.

One child was in the fridge begging, no, screaming at me to get him popsicles and ice cream. The other was trying to get into the cabinet that I was in front of so she could empty endless plastic containers onto the kitchen floor.

And then I was five. And seven. And ten. And fifteen. And twenty. At the time, I never understood why my mom got so aggravated when we were in the kitchen as she was getting dinner ready. When we were trying to do our own thing, or get her to do something for us…

But now I know. You get stretched so very thin, and it happens so quickly.

So I yelled… to get out of  my kitchen “OR SO HELP ME GOD!!”

Not that I really know what I would have done if I hadn’t been helped…

But I still yelled. And Fynn ran, and Paige just looked at me like I had five heads. Paige actually yelled back at me. That was pleasantly unexpected!

It happens. And I honestly will not beat myself up about it. Within five minutes Fynn came back and nicely asked for some milk, and he gave me a kiss and hug. It was over.

That’s another thing I never really got when I was little. My mom would get aggravated, but it never lasted long. She’d get mad, then she was done. We always kissed and hugged, then moved on. She never held a grudge (not that I’m aware of anyway). I’m not still mad at Fynn for screaming for popsicles and ice cream. He’s two. He’s my son. I’m not still mad at Paige for trying to empty out an entire cabinet right at my feet. She’s one. She’s my daughter. They’re kids. They’re my kids.

The lessons my mother inadvertantly taught me are numerous. Memories have a funny way of coming back to you right when you need them the most. Today, I could have sworn somewhere in my voice was my mother… if I hadn’t known she was in Florida I would have thought she was standing behind me this afternoon, patting me on the back.


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