Forgive me, Miss Austen

It is a truth universally acknowledged that a two year old in possession of a good supply of magic markers must find herself in (CONSTANT) need of a mani/pedi victim.

Or a tattoo customer.

And must fall weeping on the floor if she is rebuffed.

For more on the latest obsession, see here.


I'm introducing J.S. Bach to the kiddos this fall. Yeah, they're getting culchah. Loaded five from our collection into the CD player this morning while Ian was doing copywork, in the calm moment after our morning of hysterical tears (see above). It was the Bach Variations from Windham Hill, and as the music wafted from the player and curled around us, the late morning sunlight glancing in through the glass doors, Ian looked up and asked me, "Who wrote this music?" "Bach. Johann Sebastian Bach." "Oh. He did a good job!"

His writing was some of the neatest I've ever seen from him. Thank you, Johann.