Rites of spring

Own children have long since outgrown church’s Mothering Sunday Crafts Morning, but I suspect that my place as Collage Supervisor is assured for life, and spend happy morning chatting to disconcertingly young parents as Spring Scene gradually takes shape, with joyful disregard for scale and lots of cotton wool clouds (or possibly sheep).

Realise that can ignore garden no longer, and spend afternoon trying to remove whole damp winter’s worth of debris while tortoise and dog circle each other warily and son gives skateboard a Rasta makeover.

Told to Keep Out Of The Kitchen after supper; do best to ignore distinct smell of burning. Happy Mothering Sunday tomorrow.

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