A portrait of my children, once a week, every week.

Iain: ice saber? 

Elijah: It’s not the thing you fling, it’s the fling itself

Galen: is convinced that the birds dance when he plays for them

Màiri Rose: she cracks me up sometimes

the little one: I’ve been thinking a lot about how at this time last year, I was desperately struggling to come to terms with what was more and more looking like an inevitable hysterectomy in my immediate future.  And now here we are.  My wee miracle baby.


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