Where nature meets nurture defined by purpose
Eldore turned twenty-two months on September the 19th.
Since I have missed a couple of months, this update will encompass more changes in Eldore than an almost-two-years-old update usually would.
Jump to a section:
The Great Sleep Fiasco And How It Was Reconciled
The Developing Conversationalist
Miscellany
“Why don’t you go out and jump on the trampoline?”
It was worded as a suggestion, but Anselm knew from experience that it was anything but. He was dangerously close to surrendering to his boundless energy and dashing around the Colloquium, an action that is strictly forbidden, given his own proclivity for dashing and then tripping and then falling into things.
[Read more…]I think it was when we were walking the trail in the field, when I was in labor with Beatrice, and Jeremy and I had a brief conversation about gardens and planting and growth and fruit. Namely, about the timing of the harvest of some plants versus others.
Our garden last year had been brief and exciting. We plowed, we tilled, we planted, we watched eagerly. Then plants sprang up, the fruit grew, and the harvest was bountiful. All of this happened in the span of a handful of months.
Five months for Darling Beatrice, the sweetest baby at Janderhil. (She is also the only baby, but that is neither here nor there.)
Miss Beada turned four months on the fourth of August.
If she knew how tardy this update is, she would most assuredly growl at me. She’s a most accomplished growler, brazenly grumbling at her hands (invariably clenched during this exercise) or at her feet (she’s just realized they’re down there) or at the doctor at her four-month checkup (“Is she growling??” The doctor asked, and I nodded.) I am not sure why she does it. It is probably because she can.
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Three years ago, while Jeremy was still in Georgia getting our house together to sell and I was living here alone with four children, I started reading the Bible to the kids over breakfast.
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I am drowning, I wrote to myself in my journal. No, that’s not right. I’m being bricked in. It was a few weeks after Beatrice was born. I was already back in the swing of things–I had been since her second week. Schooling, housekeeping, childrearing, everything. I had sent a text a friend saying I felt “thin”, like Bilbo with the ring. To another, I confessed, Number Six may be the one that does me in.
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Sometime in the past month I realized I was posting pictures, pictures, pictures but hardly any words. And I thought, Erin, this whole blogging, sharing thing is really weird if it’s all pictures and no words.
I have been trying to gather words. They come to me at odd moments, like while folding laundry or when stepping out of the shower, when I take notice of a thought that seems almost coherent, but not quite complete enough to share alone. I assemble these thoughts as best I can, and when I have enough, I make a post like this.
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