It’s Raining, It’s Pouring
Tropical downpours turn our sidewalks into raging creeks. After supper, the older kids strip down and head out to do some puddle-jumping. Across the street, a fellow watching the rain from his front porch shouts, “Used to do the same thing when I was a kid in Newfoundland!”Painting Party
It started with a jolly walk home from school and ended with hammock battles, not on the agenda, and in between we painted a mural on the fence beside the play area, and chalked up the bricks, and devoured pizza, ate cake and jello and cool whip (yikes!) while swinging on swings and sitting in the play structure, and the boy turned eight. He really did. He’s a lovely boy and it’s so easy to be proud of him. He is warm-hearted, a true big brother, open to experiences, enthusiastic, who delights to eat just about anything, earnest, with the ability to focus deeply, sometimes bursting with energy, noisy, the noisiest child on the block sometimes, and yet, able to find calmness, too. He works hard, plays hard, sleeps soundly. I didn’t get any fabulous photos of him at the party, but here is one from this morning, just woken up eight-years-old, and about to open his first gift (from sister Fooey). It’s not a great photo either, but he looks like the boy I know so well.
Layers of a Party
Last Day of Being Seven
Yesterday, was Albus’s last day of being seven, so we commemorated the occasion … by decorating the birthday cake. The girls did the icing, and Albus did the candy-application. Then he posed with his siblings. It felt like a big moment, as all “lasts” are.Witching Hour
Have been worrying about how I’m going to balance the multiple demands of that delicate witching hour, 4-5, now that the weather is gorgeous and my toddler wants to play outside with the big kids. Can’t be in two places at once. Well, this may be my fate (and our neighbours’): me shouting every minute and a half out the open windows, “Who can see CJ??” Thank heavens for good fences. 
On the other hand, my shouting is probably the least of our neighbours’ noise concerns, given the cacophony of construction orchestration going on outside our front door. This is the clearly marked “Road Closed” sign, which I ran out just now to photograph because it WILL NOT LAST. In fact, Kev informs me that the line-up of pylons has already been dismantled by some enterprising driver in a hurry. I am striving not to let it bug me lest I morph into one of our neighbours, whom I shall refer to as The Mayor of W Street, who lives to be the bearer of bad news, and is on a quest to smite those who commit all and any minor by-law and traffic infractions. He’s also sometimes generous, and this afternoon left for us, without a word of explanation, this little red wagon.