Talked to my dear friend E on the phone yesterday:
E: It was so great to see you guys.
Me: Yeah, it was like the parenting commune I wish we lived in.
E: When are you guys going to start that? We’ll move in with you.
Me: We just need some land.
E: I know how to pickle carrots. I pickled some carrots this week.
Me: And I’m knitting a dishrag. We’ll need dishrags.
E: Because on communes there are lots of dishes.
Visiting E and family several weeks back, the adult:kid ratio was 5:3. The end of July, we were with my parents and many other relatives coming and going. Always the option of talking to another adult, and often the option of, say, going to the bathroom alone.
Back here last week, I was hit all over again with how lonely it can be on the days I’m home with M, how often it feels like I have to scramble to fill up the hours with somewhat fun or somewhat useful activities to keep from getting swallowed up by the enormous quiet of it.
By Friday, I’d frantically signed us up for not one but TWO toddler activities (a thing through the school district that’s kind of parent support/education coupled with playtime, and something at a nearby rec center where apparently the kids sing and play with instruments). Both start in mid-September.
In theory, I don’t like the idea of so many scheduled activities for a one-year-old, and I wish I hadn’t just shelled out over a hundred bucks just to have these things on the calendar. But in practice, what on earth else am I going to do with all these days coming up, you know? I’m still looking for my tribe around here.
And I AM learning to knit. You should see this dishrag. It is completely cattywompus, but I am nonetheless inordinately proud at having made it. Er, most of it. Got about a dozen rows left to go.