all about the hair…

The studio was clean, and my mojo was itchy. I dropped a kiss on the soft damp head in my arms, and gently lowered my sleepy girl into her cot. I could hear Daddy getting the boys ready for bed, and snuck across the hall. The desk stretched before me, empty and full of possibility. I pulled out a photo, and out came my scrapping supplies. A trim, a snip, a squiggle. And then. No tape. I lay it to one side, and placed a blank piece over it to keep it safe. The photo, my blue eyed Bubba Boy at 8 months, had been teasing me for days. His floppy little fringe, swept to one side, taunting me, calling up memories of fluffy newborn hair, of growing curls, of a sweet little “front mullet” with hair to his eye at the front, and a tiny little fuzz patch at the back. My determination not to cut it, as I idly twirled it around my fingers. The realisation that it needed to be cut. My baby, growing up too quickly.

 

I was hit over the head with the Monday stick, but I’ve fought back and conquered the day. Three loads of washing. The folding pile half diminished. School drop off. Toilet-training. Work. A sick Bubba Boy and the decision to call it a movie day. And now the baby sleeps, Bubba Boy is ready for a play on the computer, so it’s Reading Eggs time for him. Sewing time for me. Peicework then fun stuff. A mug rug and some new fabric. A couple of patterns waiting in my inbox. Just a stolen moment, so I’m going to squeeze in as much as I can. Hello Monday, I’m fighting back. Bring it on!

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