A Few of My Favourite Things
Kids who make their own lunch. And arrange it on a table they’ve set up themselves.
Children who read. 
A baby who still nurses from time to time.
Tiny front-yard gardens that produce actual tomatoes to be picked by girls still wearing pajamas.
The smell of a lime being sliced open, which makes me think we should up and move down south to a country where these would be locally grown (along with mangoes and avocadoes).
What Is That, Mommy? That’s Art.
Here’s an article I stumbled across online that offers a tiny window into the wastelands of CanLit obscurity. It rang rather horribly true. I’ve spent this summer deliberately not writing. Not writing poetry, not writing stories, not writing anything except the occasional blurb-like blog entry. Instead, I’ve been going, doing, cooking, eating, drinking, biking, talking, dozing, rising, reading. At first, I thought I’d go crazy without an outlet for my imagination; oddly, it’s been the opposite, which is frightening me ever so slightly as I prepare to return to a more regular writing life, afforded by children returning to school, and regular babysitting hours funded by dwindling grant monies.
Wedding, July 22, 2009
Apparently, I stopped taking photos at this point. But these few made it onto the camera, and I send them forth into the crowded perpetuity that is Blogland. The first were taken while we were waiting for photographs, just goofing around under the tent. It stopped raining and the sun burst forth just as the ceremony began. Verklempt, I was.Tomorrow’s the Big Day
Okay, kids, onto the wedding! We’ll be cheering in our finest.
Good Enough
Trying to get up in school-ready time, which is silly because we still have two and a half weeks of summer vacation left; but I want to remind myself that I can do it. And I can. It just makes me want to go to bed earlier. Unfortunately, the children are not going to bed earlier. If anything, they seem incapable of falling asleep before 9:30 at night, no matter when we tuck them in (perhaps we should end the two-week-long sleepover going on in Albus’s room; Apple-Apple is in his loft bed, because she kicks, and Fooey and Albus have been sharing a mattress on the floor, which leaves only enough floorspace for masses of dumped Lego. My thorough cleaning of several weekends ago was decimated almost instantly). Naturally, no matter how active our days, the children still wake up at approximately the same time. This morning it wasn’t their fault. We were all woken by an apparent earthquake, the entire house shuddering on its foundations. It’s still going on. Endless road construction.