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our house is an oldie but goodie. it’s small and cozy, with lots of creaks and crevices. my son’s bedroom is at the front of the house, and he is a notoriously light sleeper (except when he isn’t, which is completely maddening). he didn’t nap for the first year of his life without me holding him, unless he was in the car or occasionally the stroller. it is perhaps for this reason that nap time seems to me to be a completely luxury. my son is now a regular napper, and a good one, but nap time still feels like a luxury, a little piece of the day that i get to steal away for myself.

at the back of our house is a little mud room. it was once an enclosed porch, but my husband (with a little help from a very pregnant me) labored away to create a little room, which we now lovingly refer to as “the rumpus.” it has become my little office, my spot to hang out while the baby sleeps. it is the place that i write, collage, doodle, sew buttons, and work on my etsy shop. admittedly i also do quite a bit of internet surfing, punctuated by gardening and a little meditation. it’s the one room in the house that i don’t really “edit”, it’s filled with tiny items that we’ve collected, our favorite record covers, old books and magazines. the other day a storm blew threw, and it made me stop and look around and realize how much i love this little room, drenched in sunshine or in its particularly moody low light, it always looks wonderful to me.

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