Susannah Wren asked if she could take a picture of Sunshine; thirty pictures of Sunshine and Fruity later, here's a blog post stitched from her snapshots. This is the girl who's told us since she was little(r) that she wants to have a house full of cats when she grows up: "LOTS of cats, Mama, at least 20 cats..."
Her heart is tender, and when I ask her if, with all of those cats, there will be any room for babies in the house, she tells me about all the orphaned children she will adopt, presumably at least one child to own each cat.
It's gonna be a great house to live in, I bet.
Spun by Abigail on Saturday, August 31, 2013
A smaller group showed up this year for the 112th consecutive annual family reunion than for last year's eleventy-first, but we enjoyed the day, regardless. One hundred and twelve! I think that's pretty impressive. We all come for the pool, but the playground's not too shabby.
Oh, yeah. Did I mention we got to swim in the pool?
Yours truly even jumped off the diving board three times, because it was there, and I had willing serfs to hold Ezekiel. Here's to the one hundred and thirteenth!
She's been threatening it for years-- after all, a soft-body skin stretched over shards of plastic head doesn't promise longevity -- and she finally did it. After multiple surgeries that staved off the inevitable, Laura found a fresh head. Millie requested her eyes and mouth look as near the original as possible (..."because without her eyes, Laura just won't be Laura!"), and I did the best I could, bringing her from this
to this over the space of a morning.
My mom gave Laura when Millie turned three, and I think she's all set for the next eight years now. [Mom O., your old turtleneck sleeves came in handy again. Guess what we made her head from? :) ]
When the other girls woke up and saw the surgery in full swing, they eagerly lined up with more of the fallen.
Annie brought Thomas to have his leg sewn back on his body,
and Susannah brought me the doll she's had for as long as she can remember.
This one suffered more unfortunate injuries (John Wayne!), which, in my feeble skill, I could not mend, so, instead, I sewed her arm back on and then outfitted her with matching socks and a bandage. If only I'd studied for a medical degree instead of that B.A. Who needs liberal arts in the home, anyway?!
I was listening to Debussy, low and soft, when the sound of Zeke crying from our upstairs bedroom caused me to turn off the music. Before I stood, I heard it again; it wasn't Zeke as I'd thought, but instead a mourning dove's plaintive call reaching through early morning fog and cricketsong and into the open window. It gave me pause. When my body has aged past bearing babies, I wonder how many times I'll mistake a sound for that of a baby's cry. What memories will rise when I'm in another life-time, and I know that it can't possibly be? Lay down your head, soak it up, and draw it in.
Time runs on, so tuck in close.
Spun by Abigail on Thursday, August 22, 2013