Work continues, if perhaps with fewer individual tasks than I had expected. Freelancing seems to be quiet at the moment, which is somewhat troubling; the money it brings in is quite helpful. My work in and for the classroom, however, resumes today, and I was busy with it yesterday, too, churning out two assignment sheets (close to 3,000 words each) for my students. I still have reading to do to be able to teach their classes, and I still need to write the sample assignments I provide them for use as models. (Students tell me that they help. I wish they would say it on the formal evaluations for which schools ask.) So perhaps it is good that there is a bit of a gap in the freelancing; I have other things to get done at the moment, even if they do not directly pay.
Family concerns are minimal at the moment, thankfully. The Mrs. continues to work her work, the two of us trading off working time and schedules so that Ms. 8 receives the care and attention she needs. (We cannot afford day care here, and most of the people we know are child-free or have kids who have already gone off to live their own lives, so there are limits to her interaction with other children.) Ms. 8 is forming short sentences now--a few of them, but only a few as yet--and is beginning to say "please" when making requests--without having to be prompted. She seems also to be engaging in more pretend play. These seem to be good things, generally, although I do wish there were better venues for her to engage with other children here. I suppose it is the price of living away from family and starting our own family relatively late.
The weather continues to be cool, into cold, around Sherwood Cottage. The deeper chill of earlier seems to have passed, at least for the moment; temperatures drop below freezing overnight, but they are ranging into the mid-40s F. Today, they are expected to get into the 50sF. How long the little snap of spring will last is uncertain to me; I anticipate another substantial drop in temperatures before too long, one that will wait just long enough for plants to think it safe to grow again, only to crush them in a cold blanket that catches the sunlight and throws it painfully into the eyes of those who look on. (I know that I anthropomorphize to do so, but I read reality as a smart-ass. How else to have the platypus, among others?) For now, though, things are reasonably pleasant.
I should do more to enjoy the relative pleasantness, I know. I also know that I am not likely to do so. Work continues, after all, and pleasant circumstances do not diminish what must be done.