Well, this week, this week. There has been a case of fifths disease for my little girl which meant missing a special outing with a friend. Tears were shed, but joy was found in a tea party with her brother. They made their own peanut butter and jelly sandwiches and had some lemonade and blueberries all served up in an Emma Bridgewater tea set. A gift from her nana many moons ago which stays up on high until an occasion special enough comes along to warrant using it. It makes it all the more exciting and special when it does come out to play.
There was a beautiful iris from just such a friend.
Some knits were finished for a little girl turning one. The hat is the same as this one and the scarf/snug was made up on the fly.
And then, oh ill fated jump from the couch, my sweet boy broke his wrist. And now we are all at sixes and sevens with cancelled swim lessons, a lack of knowing what to do with oneself, not being able to write, draw, take gym or dance class and my goodness the itchiness of that cast. Poor sweet, sad boy. Promises of trips to the cinema and reading lots of books, baking favorite cakes, commiseration chats with nana (because it happened to her last year) are going some way to making him feel a little less dejected. So is his little sister, so concerned for him and trying to make him laugh. But six weeks seems so long to me, how long it must feel to him, more like six months I imagine.
And me, I have been taking solace in these well written words. In remembering that it can be hard for all mothers every now and then, and for some mothers well, so very,very much harder. Tonight when I go to bed I will kiss my kids and count my blessings, be grateful it wasn't worse.