For spring break, we visit my parents in Syracuse. It is a good time to visit, as it is about half a year away from a summer visit. It is better than midwinter, as there is less chance of a snow storm while I drive. Between our visits to Syracuse, my family can visit us in Quebec. Then we can see each other four times per year, which might not actually be enough, but traveling is not easy.
Iris and Mom pick fix up a Kenmore for a friend of mine.
The top fell off a long time ago.
Rotted wood flies easily from the end of the hatchet.
Mamie gave my kids some spending money for Christmas. Akiva was very excited to spend it on a plastic knight figurine and a knight’s horse from the toy store. He poured over the knights and their mounts for ages. Finally he settled on a knight. I told him he could get the horse later. As soon as he brought the knight home, it lost all intrigue. I asked him, isn’t it interesting how we can want something so much, how it can seem so exciting, but then as soon as we get it, it is no longer interesting? I don’t understand why this happens: as if the only interesting thing is the selection of and the buying of the object. He agrees.
Later, we discuss what we are going to do for homeschooling. He likes going to the forest school he attends, but the kids are all a bit young, and there is no one in particular he gets along with. His favorite thing, he says, is the hatchet. He likes being in the woods, cutting the woods, working in the woods. I ask, if you had a hatchet, would that be enough? He says, yes. We go out. Excitedly, he buys the first hatchet he sees. I am ready to give away the knight, he tells me later. I nod. I really like my hatchet, he says.
The knight is still on his toy shelf, untouched. I told him it is good to keep the knight, to remind us that sometimes we want things that are more fun to buy than to have.
Iris waits patiently while Akiva swings his hatchet.
Akiva drives his car into a ditch.
He waits a long time for someone to tow him out.
Iris does not mind that Akiva is stuck in a ditch.
She has a doggie to snuggle, so all is good.
Iris asked, for Solstice, to go on a hike just with me, like we used to
before my foot hurt so much.
I enjoyed the hike.
Iris let me know that I am slow.
The word “photo-graph” literally means drawing with light.
These photographs capture my children in the act of drawing on air with light.
They erased everything when they were done.
When my family came up for US Thanksgiving, we still hadn’t built the house for the Candy Faerie. Sure, the kids had eaten and given away plenty of candy, but the faerie herself was getting pretty annoyed, threatening the children’s teeth at night and whatnot. So Mom, the amateur architect, not one to simply cut holes and slap things together in a hurry, sized up our boxes and did some miniature cabin design with Iris. They decided on the number, size, and location of windows and doors, the length and height of the walls, and even the pitch of the roof. Lucky faerie! Hope we didn’t spoil her because, unless Iris gets as into building houses as I was at her age (which I was, at her age), I’m probably going to go back to slapping together a quick house again next year.
measuring the roof pitch
cutting the window opening
procuring roofing materials
After the structure of the house was completed, our fine contractor absconded. She returned to work on bigger, less instantly-rewarding projects, namely the seemingly endless renovation of her own dwelling.
