You might wonder, why I bother to update this blog at all, since I only do so about twice a year. I wonder that myself. The thing is, I have this sense of obligation. This is where it all started, my obsession with documenting my rather pathetic life as a mother, and I feel somewhat loyal to this space. It's taken on the same importance as, say, for instance, the place I first kissed my husband, or where I was when I first realized I was pregnant. So, come back I do, again and again, just not regularly.
Despite the fact that the weather is colossally dreary, relentlessly raw and gray, sometimes raining sometimes snowing, but with no noticeable accumulation, I feel quite content here in my little house out in the cow field. Children are at Martha's, house is so quiet I can hear the ticking of the clock and the slurping of car tires passing by on our mud bog of a dirt road.
This morning, as Esther and Isla stood at the easel collborating on an acrylic paint masterpiece, I said to Isla, "Isla, you need to eat breakfast" and, without a moment's hesitation Isla said, "No. I need to paint." And that pretty much sums it up.
For more detailed information, look here and here.