As the children grow up, I’m often struck by moments we’ve left behind. The ones that silently disappeared. No fanfare. They were part of our lives one moment, then slipped away with no one noticing.
Puddle jumping is one. The art of jumping into the centre of a puddle and making the biggest splash possible.
To badly quote. It is a truth universally acknowledged that a child at the start of their summer holiday must be in want of a few days relaxation. It is certainly true of my merry band. They all pretty much collapsed and were beyond doing much.
The first proper day off, I took two of them to the library. One refused to budge, Continue reading
We sat on her bed, looking at the contents of her wardrobe. After flicking through the rail, I finally agreed with her. All her dresses were not suitable for a near-teen. It didn’t help that since last summer she has stretched. I mean really stretched. Dresses were now tunics and the rest were too young.
More dresses were definitely required. (Music to a mother’s ears, who likes to sew.)
It was a Saturday morning. The fabric shop would be open. Heading downstairs, I selecting a few possible patterns from my collection and let her choose.