Skipping Church

Yesterday was a busy day, between Martin's conference and a sweet third child at our house and a wild painting experience (orange is the color of choice in our googoo house at the moment--the only major color NOT on our walls from the color wheel is purple), I had the overwhelming, tired sensation that it was time to stay home and have a family day. This was in conjunction with the knowledge that Martin's next week is busy-extra-busy and I will be taking off with my mother to help her sort through her house pre-move.

So we skipped church. After Martin overcame his guilt (left-over from never-miss Sunday attendance as a child--a what-if-Jesus-came-back-right-now feeling I can completely relate to), we had a beautiful day--our friends came over and we, heathen-like, in bad clothes, ate a pile of french toast with syrup, after which everyone (except me) went sledding and then came in for more food. And now Elspeth sleeps, Martin and Merry are out for a few moments together, and I am hunched over my computer briefly before sacking out flat with a book.

I do have a piece of outstanding news to report on my husband's behalf: Martin found out yesterday that he is (based on his work alone) the recipient of a PA arts grant, the total sum of which will go to finance his poetry for the next year. This wonderful news is well-deserved by my brilliant poet-in-residence (if I do say so myself). In a fortuitous turn, the poet himself brought home two bottles of wine, so if you would care to toast his happiness, drop by and we'll pour you a glass.