We ate dinner by candlelight—“It’s like a birthday!” Lucia said—and then enjoyed a quiet (and chilly) evening once the girls were in bed. I wrote and read; Andrew embarked on a new hobby: reupholstering an old chair he found in the barn. He’s in the very beginning stages of removing over a hundred nails and fasteners from the existing (mouse-destroyed) upholstery. (Or perhaps he’s simply been in the back room bagging up mouse skeletons from the chair’s interior—I told him not to tell me what he found once he began his disassembly.)
We're here for the long Memorial Day weekend. As usual, we feel separated from real life, ensconced in a place where we hear only raindrops, where Lucia laughs hysterically at her rainboots’ tendency to fall off while she’s swinging, where both girls find high hilarity in Greta’s squealing, lightning-fast attempts to climb up the stairs, and where we’re as likely to be sitting in a chair (allegedly) from the Mayflower as we are to be watching “Sofia the First” on the iPad.