My daughters are growing up. In fits and starts, perhaps. But mostly starts. I find that their recent forward momentum is simultaneously exciting and bittersweet. I haven’t sorted out where I stand in their evolution from child to tween and from tween to teen, but I’m not always as happy about it as I think I should be. Aren’t good parents always supposed rejoice in their children’s self-actualization and maturation? Am I being selfish in wanting to arrest their development for a few years? To stop time in order to collect as many hugs and as much laughter as I can before they no longer want to hug us and laugh with us?
Medieval. Medieval. Medieval. Everywhere we go we are surrounded by very old stuff. I love it. It makes me happy. I’ve dragged my husband and the girls all over the southwest region of France in order to soak in these small pearls of art and architecture and there’s still so much more to see! I am driving them nuts, but it’s worth the insanity to see these beautiful sights.