The F month

The problem with February is that it is supposed to feel short.  It starts with a cute groundhog, then there is the day dedicated to love to make it seem less daunting, and on special years we leap our way out of the month a day early.  But, for some reason it seems to matter not a bit.  The days seem so grey I swear I have been feeling claustrophobic.

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But push forward we must, even if it is one heavy snowshoed step in front of another.  Today I ventured out to make up for a less than successful walk yesterday, filled with new gusto, and more layers.  The trip included picking up mail, three half gallons of milk, and birdsong in our ears.  Yup, birdsong.  Our neighbors barn is jam packed with loud cheeps and even though its normal, it feels so good to hear more than a chickadee’s call and the random crows warning.  Sky music, and birds are my favorite track.  On the way back, I got a wild hair and decided to unearth (unsnow?) one of the woodpiles.  With a sweet Willow high atop my back, snoozing soundly, two boys jaws set in determination, and one toddler with a tractor between his paws, it actually seemed possible.  I shoveled here and there and finally realized I was somehow standing on top of the pile.  Eighteen inches below my feet I pulled back the tarp and hoisted out logs from the cave below.  It made me laugh.

We have been so crafty lately.  I mean it too.  It is keeping us sane.  Though I am not sure the state of my house is…

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(keeping it real)

And we have been reading- A TON.  I mean seriously Almanzo and Laura are a hot item these days and we can’t put it down.  On his own time, Miles has become the best of chums with The Boxcar Children.  Luckily homeschooling lends to lots and lots of thick chunks of the day for reading, because this boy can’t get enough.  I have been nose deep in a few good ones myself:  Salt.– a collection of poems good for the times, both in the wide world, and in the one which having many small children places you in.  Fates and Furies, a book written in such beautiful language it begs to be read again, and with a story so intriguing I may just do so.  But not until I finish The Department of Speculation, this one I cannot put down. (I am grateful for the pandora reading station my friend Taylor is handcrafting for me… this girl is good.)

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Oh February, you will not drag us down.  Nope.  Not while there are velvet soft cheeks to press mine against, and capable hands to admire.  (This was a self-directed peanut butter making shot.  Thank you Honest Pretzels and peanuts in the shells, you bought me one whole hour of much-needed non fighting, chai tea drinking, knitting time!)

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