Spring has come, which usually means an almost indiscernible shift from 68.2 degree winter days to 71.4 degree spring days. This year however, we seem to actually be channeling our inner Pacific Northwest and getting a decent amount of that phenomenon called rain. I was so proud of myself for french double digging a little 12x12 garden in the back yard, but now I have to face the fact that the digging is finished and now I have to plant something. Seeds? (am I too late for that?) Plants? There is so much conflicting information on the internet, I’m frozen with indecision. Meanwhile I have a homemade La Brea tar pit in my backyard. I snared an 11 year old homo sapien male in it this afternoon. He sunk up to his shins in my beautiful fire swamp.
The children have turned the house into their very own parkour/ninja warrior jump house. There is a new intricate game of tag going on that is more complicated than the rules for Settlers of Catan. It’s somehow a blend of wrestling, rock paper scissors and reverse tag. My job is catch falling lamps, and remove abandoned beverages before they get knocked over.
We did get lots of school done though. Cottage school is great for that. Sometimes I wonder if some 18th century Latin tutor is rolling over in his grave at the hybrid, home school, community driven lifestyle we’ve carved out for ourselves in this little corner of urban agglomeration.
…maybe I should assign gardening class next.