I miss my grandma. I think about rooms in her homes and I wish I’d taken pictures of them. Since I can remember, I love to be in rooms by myself. To just take them in. How they smell. What the light looks like. What they choose to display. What’s in the drawers (not anymore but ya know-grandma had a lot of scarves and lacy nightgowns).

Now that I’m a mom, the solitary, clean room is an anomaly, so I thought I’d start documenting the rooms of my life now. Cuz the boring old room of today will be fascinating in five or ten years. At least to me.

I love being lonely, in that painful sort of way. I love missing and yearning. Sometimes I think I miss being sad, cuz I don’t really have time to be sad anymore with this oxytocin machine running around, learning how to use the potty and take a shower and cook things. Sometimes I think I can’t wait to be “alone” again. Then this happens…

…and I want to breed. Grandma had four, after all. And she had really beautiful rooms.