There are fireworks of crocus in our front bed by the brick path: deep purple with golden centers. . .the tulips are pushing up strong and thick and the daffodils are wisps of green in the front garden. The forsythia bush, though bent and bed-headed from the drifts of snow, is covered with buds.
I just wrote a letter to my mother--here's a very brief portion that explains how wonderful life felt this morning:
The babysitter came after a long time away and I felt almost giddy as I stood in the sunlight in my own room, alone to write for four blissful hours!!!! Hallelujah, there is nothing so good perhaps as that feeling--even when I'm most happy over the girls it is a more complicated happiness, a happiness that includes still being responsible for them and concerned for their welfare and one that is mixed with a little sadness that they are growing up so fast. . .but the bliss of being alone for the first time in a long time with sunshine and a computer and your own room--oh, it's so uncomplicated and so good.
Currently there are three girls in the bath; it is almost eight and Merry has a spelling test tomorrow. Elspeth has been screaming because Merry is threatening to put her in the dungeon and the floor is flooded with discarded clothes--so I'd better go.
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