It's rainy again here today. We've had a string of grey days that are starting to yellow my plants and dampen our spirits. A couple of the little ones are down with colds and the mood under the poplar and pine is less than cheerful. Today will be a quiet day (relatively, I do have four unruly children and a sassy dog in this house after all).
I've made a potholder loom for my oldest boy (he wants to make money by selling potholders made of recycled fabric) and today he's going to paint it. He's decided on blue and though it doesn't neccessarily need a coat of paint, I think that the process of prepping and painting it will make the loom feel like his own. I'm sure the little ones will want to paint too so I've layed out a huge roll of brown paper to try (in vain) to protect our already "loved with creativity" furniture.
While cuddling my youngest this morning, I reached over for my old copy of A Tree Grows In Brooklyn. I picked up the book at a garage sale a while ago but have never read it. I hardly ever get the time to read anymore and it's something I sorely miss. I'm already deep into this book and am counting the minutes until naptime when I can read more. I hadn't realized how much I missed holding a book.