I was going to write a post about how insane our weekend was. A playful wrestle that ended with Margot mashing her face into the floor (and a fat lip, squashed, swollen nose, and scraped forehead). 5:30 am wakeups. A baby that will only nap while being carried in a sling. My much-anticipated,carefully orchestrated (nurse the baby, run to town, shop, and run back, all in 2 hours) twice monthly trip into Renfrew for a "big grocery shop" that came abruptly to a halt (after driving forty minutes and promising the kids french fries when we were done) when I realised I didn't have my bank card on me. Arriving home with my head feeling like it would explode with subdued frustration, only to have my late lunch interrupted by Margot getting stung by a wasp upstairs. Then Violet getting stung moments later. A sweet kitten scratching Margot's cheek.
But I didn't take pictures of any of those moments.
I only took pictures of our kitchen ballet class, taught by Violet in her incarnation as Miss Diamond, teaching her student, "Lily". I took pictures of the kittens napping on a discarded tutu. I also took picture of Jude after the girls coerced him into a pink tutu, but I'll respect his good-natured soul by not sharing those here.
I took pictures of their impromptu tea party, civilized and full of pleases and thank yous, complete with fake British accents.
I took a picture of my lightbulb moment, as I raced back into town for groceries later in the day, and passed the local chip stand. French fries for Sunday dinner? Pourquoi pas?
Eating French fries for Sunday dinner with a kitten in your arms (scratches, swollen nose, and fat lip notwithstanding)...even better.
And always, watching this wild world of our family swirling noisily around her, this baby clings to her parents like the tiny mammal she is, learning what it is to laugh (finally) in the face of plans that change as quickly as she does.