"In words, like weeds, I'll wrap me o'er,
Like coarsest clothes against the cold"

—Tennyson

Sunday, August 8, 2010

Charlotte is finally tucked in bed after a second session of rocking and a few more songs, and Isaiah is happily singing about monster trucks while coloring one red. The days fly by, filled with so many little things. They are meaningful, though, and I am very happy.

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