Winter and a Birthday

While Southern Ange cavorts on the shore of some exotic-sounding lake in the land of sun and warmth, I am languishing in a bleak white place, surrounded by the sound of dripping as the dirty snow melts.

However, I am a cultivator! I am busy cultivating a classroom, sunny with smiles and laughter. I am cultivating a cozy home; a warm spot to hibernate while winter does its wintery thing outside. Without me.

Today, my Little Bear is nineteen. That means that I've been a mummy for nineteen years (plus nine months of pregnant anticipation!), through the days of diapers and night feeding, Boris Karloff walking, eating sand, finger painting in horrible substances, breaking everything breakable, sleeping angels with rosy cheeks and sweaty hair, small shoes beside the door, drool and other yukkiness perpetually decorating my left shoulder, rocking back and forth automatically even with empty arms, mushy food and cheerios, toys in my purse, and... suddenly he's a man. That quickly.

It will happen to you, too!