“On my birthday, Mama, I would like a whole lot of Cheetos.” Thus declares the Kransling who is across the table from me; it has been duly noted. His birthday, though, is still several months away. He may change his mind.
I have sat here to get some kind of writing done, starting with the conventional note that all writing is a struggle these days. Aurick’s monthly updates are perpetually late; all other kinds of posts exist solely in my head and never reach the keyboard. I’ve set some time this afternoon to ignore everything else and try to write. I’ve been more successful with discussing birthday food plans and drinking my cup of coffee.
Three children are sleeping. The other four are all here in the Colloquium with me. Elvie sits on the sofa with the cookie she’s been asking for for the past two hours. Clive looks at a book, then gets an apple. Anselm plays at the piano–sometimes the songs he makes up, sometimes the songs in the lesson book. Ephraim interrupts my writing with an observation and I gently remind him that I’ve asked to not be interrupted. He apologizes, then a moment later interrupts again. I am not as gentle that time. Elvie asks to paint. I remind her that whatever she gets out, she must put away. She gets out a paint set, a glass of water, and a coloring book of The Avengers.
This summer has been dry (as in not raining, yet still humid) and unseasonably cool at times. The low a few days ago was in the high 50’s. We have been enjoying the occasional cooler weather. This Fourth of July was the first we’ve spent in Kentucky that didn’t find us eaten up by huge mosquitos while we sat outside all watched all the country fireworks; there are always several locations visible from our property.
Anselm doesn’t always love the cooler weather–he lives for making elaborate water slides and sprinklers to slide down and run through, and waits anxiously for the times when it’s so unbearably hot that his request to make one cannot possibly be turned down.
Today is a good contender for a waterslide, but grey clouds keep rolling across the sky, and occasionally a sprinkling of rain is felt. To the north I can see curtains of rain falling, real rain, but thus far nothing that substantial has fallen here. I will probably need to water the plants in the garden this evening after dinner.
An hour has passed; the four children that were previously here in the room are gone. But the baby is here now. He is nine months old today. I need to write his monthly update. He is lying on his back in the playpen, the sugar bowl from his sister’s tea set clutched in one hand, and he is furiously waving it and kicking at the sides of the playpen with both feet while he crows to himself. Two children have gone down to Aunt Pam’s. Two children are still napping. Two children are in the basement playing. I can hear their music. Clive has suddenly become enamored with bagpipes. He is almost always listening to bagpipe music when he is playing downstairs. It occurs to me that it may be worthwhile to look into switching him to bagpipes from piano. Maybe.