The introduction to this year’s Trinity Park Home Tour guide included a note about how the author loves to walk the neighborhood streets in the evening because everyone has their lights on, windows open. It’s true, too. You get this beautiful glimpse of real people living real lives, writing new history in historical homes.
Photo by Rebecca Ames Photography
Vance reminded me of this on our drive home tonight from church, early again, because Misha was fussy and I knew he was probably hungry and I still hate feeding him in “public.” It made me think about what people might see if they looked through the true-divided panes of our home.
Tonight they’d see an overtired momma rocking an overtired baby who refuses to keep his socks on; her husband lighting tapers atop silver candlesticks that were once her grandparents’; steam rising from a casserole dish — strata with CSA greens and Italian sausage. Perhaps they’d smell the six-month-old frozen chocolate cake baking in the toaster oven, hear spoons clanking over it, or the music of Django Reinhardt emanating from the Gramophone, ocean sounds from the baby monitor.
Sometimes life with a newborn feels impossible. But when I look through the window it’s also beautiful and full of warmth on a cold night.
Misha is inconsolable tonight.