243/365 These Days

Days are lighter in the mornings. Girls get up easier, at least Fiona. I think Daisy must be related to me.

Bree, Iris, Eliza come over and play "Little Big Planet" and make their own levels, impossible to complete.

Some sculpey (cook in the oven polymer clay) is getting used.

Bree's bunny died this weekend. At least it was after the camping trip was over and not while we were gone. She wants to make a stepping stone. Once it's warm I'm going to help with that.

The river birch in the front yard looks like it "took." Tiny green buds.

Not all the daffodils were happy about being separated and moved around last summer. But I'll give them another year. The tulips, though, are spent. Time to dig them up.

We're planning the treehouse/play structure thing. I'm thinking mid-April we'll get on that. Debating whether we'll put in an inflatable pool where the galvanized one was...or not. It could be a busy summer in the backyard. And I don't think I trust Billy.

Time to get out my target and bow.

242/365 And then some

Saturday afternoon. Home from a camping trip with girl scouts--the year before, we'd run around in sweatshirts and gloves (it was a wetlands experience, so we were going to be cold and wet), with temperatures in the 40s in the morning, rising through the day. This year it was snowing. Snow. Spring snow isn't surprising in St. Louis but this year has been absolutely ridiculous.

So I took this picture as we headed out to my inlaws for the night and a birthday party in the morning. Gah.

241/365 Just ridiculous

Out my window Friday morning.

240/365 Porch woes

It was windy today. My porch sagged just a bit more. The riser on the bottom step came undone--perhaps it already was and we were just propping it back into place, actually. Hard to recall. Flopped onto the stoop. I saw it on my way out to get the girls from school. Billy saw it too. Said something, pointing. I wanted to apologize to him for the fact that our house was so run down--it isn't, but the porch really is. His brow furrowed and we picked up the board together. Genetics run deep with that one, with my father the woodworker and Mike's father the carpenter (Jeff builds houses, my dad builds furniture). Grunting, he pats it after I put it in place, like he's telling it to stay put.

We're working on borrowed time here.

239/365 Beautiful Day

"Afternoon, ma'am," the passer-by says to me, walking slowly up the sidewalk. Kids move over and watch him pass.

"Hey there," is my response. That's a friendly thing, kind of southern. Not a "hey! you there!" but more like a "hi."

"It is a beautiful day," he fills the time it takes to walk from the oak tree to the sweetgum.

"It is indeed."

"Blessed beautiful day," he continues. "Too blessed to be distressed beautiful day."

"I agree."

238/365 Spring Night Sycamore

237/365 All I Need Is Wheels