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More Scary Things

Not to be outdone, the youngest daughter saw the oldest daughter’s scary thing and had a go herself.

Perhaps I should be worried.


Now we are nine

The youngest daughter turned nine today – just after 10 a.m. to be precise. On the day she was born she had an awful lot of her planets in the watery sign of Cancer: her sun and her moon for example. I need to check what her rising sign was because I have forgotten, for now. Anyway, she has proved to be a watery sort of person. We have eye-water daily, but it is like a brief cleansing of the tear ducts and then she moves on. It’s hard to believe that it was nine years ago she made her entrance into the world. My own has not been the same since.

It was Open Evening at school today – here is her black-headed gull. I was mighty taken with it. I suppose this post should’ve carried a proud parent warning sign – but there you go – too late now.

black headed gull

Artist’s note: the teacher made me go over the blue with grey to make it ‘exactly’ like the picture. I wasn’t very happy about that.

Mother’s note: I make the artist right.

Crumpled paper

The world seems extremely harsh at the moment. People killed in Gaza, a woman dies needlessly in Galway, Ireland. Grief is casually posted all over the internet; almost impossible to avoid. It’s not the grief I want to avoid; there is nothing wrong in bearing witness to a life lost. It is rather that it is mixed in amongst stories about celebrities dating footballers, or television presenters being disciplined – all lumped together – deaths and lives – news fodder.

There is no antidote to death and loss and grief. None at all. All one can do is carry on. It was rather nice then amongst all that to find this casually discarded penguin by the kettle this morning. Some doodle that was done at school and is destined for the bin; the artist having moved onto the next thing.

On days like these, it is nice to have the blog to capture these ephemera on. I post the picture and think about lives recently lost and lives hung on to, for now.

Now we are eight

My youngest turned 8 today.

Being a parent is mundane and insane in equal measure and your life is no longer your own. Actually, I think the last part is the best bit, sharing the experience with others along the way, however it goes.

I think I’ve said it before, but I always find it fascinating that every day the children wake up looking the same as yesterday, but every year they have imperceptibly become different.
She asked earlier when she would be 7 again. Good question. Never and always, I reckon.

Cassia on her last weekend of being 7