Dead Aim.

John gave me a strand of silver on Sunday, the first jewelry since the Rocketship Ring that sealed our beautiful deal. Lamentably, its lovely sterling loop was not designed for a hurry-scurry mother of three children, and it opened a few times, spilling the circle pendant. It was expensive enough to warrant a swift return, so Tuesday evening when John left to face his foe in Hammer of the Scots, the three girls and I, with his encouragement (it didn't take much), went for our first ever Girls Only Date. Of course this isn't the first gaiety we've had on our own before; after all, we do have to occupy ourselves in the hours that John's at work. This, however, was an officially declared and duly celebrated Occasion.

Poor Millie was disappointed to see men here and there.
She thought the entire place should have been quarantined.
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Our Jack-of-All-Trades Closet is clean, and most of its innards have been packed away. That's all. I thought yesterday’s big chore deserved a mention.
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If you would, please keep my oldest sister Becky and her family in your prayers today. She had a c-section this morning to bring her twins into the great, wide world. She wished to give birth as naturally as possible, but both the wee ones foiled her by flipping into the breech position and refusing to flip again. No news yet, so we sit on pins and needles. We pray for as speedy a recovery as possible and can’t wait to meet them, Beck!
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Susannah has rolled from her belly to her back and comes excruciatingly close to rolling from back to belly. Her mouth twists with the effort.
She laughs now, too. We love her.
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The bottoms of my trousers are already rolled, and yet I grow older.
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Laundry’s done, bread’s a’rising, girls are eating, and baby’s sleeping.
Having no news is often a very pleasant thing.
I’m off.