Snapelings
Turned my youngest Snapeling's dollhouse into bookshelves yesterday. Delightful way for her to hold on to a favorite childhood toy as well as encourage her bibliophile tendencies.
Actually this week she has traded in many of her dolls for books, and toys, posters and pink drapes for cozy reading chairs, art supplies, journals, velvet curtains and beautiful reproductions of medieval French tapestries. This means (Lord help me) she's not just my daughter, she's my very clone.
She has a French antique bedroom set gifted to her by her Nana. What a sweet picture it was when I took her a cup of tea, and she was on her big beautiful bed, her long goldilocks draping over a notebook she was furiously scribbling in. Her petite form and sweet little heart-shape face are such a sharp contrast against all that piercing intelligence her eyes have, even more so when she looks up from being distracted. Giant forget-me-not eyes.
The Snape is up in the tower writing so think I will go play Balder's Gate Dark Alliance with my youngest son, The Troubadour, the one with the poetic soul.
The Troubadour was humming some haunting Gregorian-like motet that gave me chills. When he hums its a work of imagination and perfectly aligned genes. Sensitive, intuitive, and hot tempered, the perfect combination for his fierce music compositions. And everything else he can bloody get himself into with his brothers today.
I reflect, not as bad as it used to be.
His strengths are his weaknesses, as this is the very same child who used to constantly lose his head in fits of rage.
Purposely provoked, of course. He has two elderly brothers: the first elder, a giant and great warrior Beast Snapeling who was stronger than me when he was eight years old and fiercely philosophical. His heart is as big as his great shoulder width. The second eldest, a deceptively cherubic lady-slaying-faced Viking Snapeling, with his long curly blond locks and a heart as big as his elder brother's, he's cool as a cucumber and sweet as can be.
However, put The Beast and The Viking Snapelings together, and you've got The Troubadour calling out death threats.
There is this specific threat I remember about him burying his brothers alive whist they suffocated on many various kinds of animal feces. Yes, right charming and nearly impossible keeping a strait face whilst trying to calm that down once it starts.
My talented babies. Happy sigh...
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Actually this week she has traded in many of her dolls for books, and toys, posters and pink drapes for cozy reading chairs, art supplies, journals, velvet curtains and beautiful reproductions of medieval French tapestries. This means (Lord help me) she's not just my daughter, she's my very clone.
She has a French antique bedroom set gifted to her by her Nana. What a sweet picture it was when I took her a cup of tea, and she was on her big beautiful bed, her long goldilocks draping over a notebook she was furiously scribbling in. Her petite form and sweet little heart-shape face are such a sharp contrast against all that piercing intelligence her eyes have, even more so when she looks up from being distracted. Giant forget-me-not eyes.
The Snape is up in the tower writing so think I will go play Balder's Gate Dark Alliance with my youngest son, The Troubadour, the one with the poetic soul.
The Troubadour was humming some haunting Gregorian-like motet that gave me chills. When he hums its a work of imagination and perfectly aligned genes. Sensitive, intuitive, and hot tempered, the perfect combination for his fierce music compositions. And everything else he can bloody get himself into with his brothers today.
I reflect, not as bad as it used to be.
His strengths are his weaknesses, as this is the very same child who used to constantly lose his head in fits of rage.
Purposely provoked, of course. He has two elderly brothers: the first elder, a giant and great warrior Beast Snapeling who was stronger than me when he was eight years old and fiercely philosophical. His heart is as big as his great shoulder width. The second eldest, a deceptively cherubic lady-slaying-faced Viking Snapeling, with his long curly blond locks and a heart as big as his elder brother's, he's cool as a cucumber and sweet as can be.
However, put The Beast and The Viking Snapelings together, and you've got The Troubadour calling out death threats.
There is this specific threat I remember about him burying his brothers alive whist they suffocated on many various kinds of animal feces. Yes, right charming and nearly impossible keeping a strait face whilst trying to calm that down once it starts.
My talented babies. Happy sigh...
I love the way you write :)
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