It's been a slog around here: the boy's leg is not better, and we're making our fourth trip about it to the pediatrician this afternoon. Meanwhile, since the H is deep into his new project (or at least, trying to be) and the au pair is in school today, Dido has to come with me as my research assistant for a very exciting (for me, anyway) writing assignment that tumbled miraculously into my lap about two weeks ago. He's not thrilled, as the job involves a long car ride, but there's a good hamburger in his future, so he'll survive. I don't mean to be cryptic, exactly, but I don't want to jinx what feels like incredible good fortune. I will reveal all, shortly, I promise.
The Babe is utterly resistant to any idea of going to school/camp (what do you call it when daycamp is at school?) without her big bro. The bribes have been flowing like a creek after a strong storm. New baby doll? Check! Chocolate ice cream? You got it! Anything to keep her on a schedule--at least one member of the family, preferably the smallest, loudest one, has to keep to a routine or the whole precarious imperfect machine will collapse upon itself, gears and springs tangled and twitching.
And in my sphere: my "garden" suffers under too many weeds (I got some out last week, and it seems they're all back, with their friends), my big chickens need a good coop freshening, and my little girls and their surprise rooster companions need me to get cracking on building them two ladders to the outside world--they are almost old enough to venture out to pasture...or they would be, if their outdoor area were not choked with a terrifying tangle of waist-high weeds. I have, it seems, fallen woefully behind.
On the other hand: I have started work on not one, but TWO, books. (There, I said it.) I am working on the afore-mentioned semi-secret most exciting project, which I will finish tomorrow. I have a lead on some more writing for a wonderful outlet, not to mention the hope of bartering some writing work for wine--never a bad exchange. Raise a glass to the promise of summer, when all things seem nearly possible.