Making It

I drew the pictures above for my spouse's birthday. 

They went with the gift, which was coffee.

Max drinks caffeinated coffee in the morning, and decaf at night. He does this with an air of ritual that I really love. There's a pretty, shiny kettle: 

and a pour-over funnel

and special filters

and a special thermos that it all goes in, with a lid that squeaks and rattles when it's tightened down. There's something very intentional about his coffee process, and how he drinks his coffee. It's the same with his fly-tying enterprise. And whenever I go in spaces that are specifically "his," these spaces radiate.

I know I'm not alone in my fascination with these items and spaces because Atticus also shares it. He's drawn to Max's desk. Anytime I leave him alone he beelines to the desk and makes off with something- a pipe tamper, a bottle of sealant, spools of glittery fly-tying thread. He loves to put a sweet potato in the silver coffee kettle, and then put the lid back on.

It's hard to claim space in a small house with an active toddler.

It's also hard for Max and I to claim space for our relationship. Our son has an aversion to the sound of us talking, so any attempt at conversation is interrupted by miserable wails and sputtering. We can get about four words in before it starts. It's like an alarm. We both brace for it.

This dynamic makes connection very hard. Planning is also difficult, and intimacy nearly impossible.

But each day that I wake up I'm glad to be with him. I'm amazed that he does what he does, and I'm grateful that we are somehow making it through this time in our lives.