I bet you thought I’ve been a bit quiet about our family life recently due to some sort of new, principled stance about sharing our private news all over the internet? HA! I’m a blogger! I’ve merely been saving these intimate stories up for a far wider audience…
Here are two updates, covering children waving axes around, cracked eggs, more insects on more faces, bowel movements and protest movements…
A little excerpt from “It’s No Use Crying Over Cracked Eggs”
Ramona will often come about with us on our farm chores. She climbs right up in to the coup to fetch the eggs from the chickens and hands them down to me. She’ll then carry one home in her hand, treating it like the precious cargo it is. There have been one or two smashed eggs in this process but they are just likely to be from one of us older ones. Last week my husband Tim insisted on carrying one home in his pocket.
Oh really, you will NEVER guess what happened next! Read on…
And here is the latest update, fresh this week, “Occupy Yurts” where I consider the difference between the stages on which Juno and Ramona learnt to walk- Juno, here at the organic farm in a remote corner of NZ, and Ramona in the midst of a protest camp at Occupy London…
Juno meanwhile has stumbled into leg confidence along rows of cabbages, across the wizened roots of mandarin trees and through paddocks of grass taller than her. She has far, far superior balance compared to that of her sister, whose feet only had to negotiate the flat, smooth paving stones of St Pauls, but she hasn’t had such a comprehensive introduction to capitalism.
