Three, Five, Seven, Nine

Phil has realized that he has difficulty sleeping after a night with friends drinking coffee. He had some at Bible study last night, and was up until 3am or so. (He was a multiple pot coffee drinker for years, and the caffeine had so little effect, he would drink it at midnight; now that he drinks only on special occasions, he's realized that his caffeine immunity has worn off.)

He had decided to work on fencing today; sleep deprivation wouldn't be a danger. Had he planned to do lumber jacking, that would have been a problem: the life-and-death danger of tree felling requires a sharp mind, not a groggy one.

A year ago today, Phil started perimeter fencing. Last January 6th, he struggled with augering holes for posts. The last year, actually, was a long struggle with the auger. He jury-rigged it today, though, and did multiple long stretches of fencing, with beautiful cross-bracing. He has a few more small tasks tomorrow, and he'll have completed a major section of perimeter electrification.

He was asleep before 8pm, after a long day with a job well done.

My mom shipped us all the presents and crafts we couldn't fit in our carry-on luggage, and we had a great time today unpacking our treasures. Jadon had made a cat out of Perler beads, and somehow its ears both fell off in transit. Jadon looked pretty bummed, but Phil suddenly let out a guffaw—the cat does look pretty funny now. Jadon perked right up.

Happily, the star he hung on the exterior door, where it catches the light whenever the door opens, is fully intact.

This is my last day to have boys ages 3, 5, 7, and 9. I asked them to head out for a last few photos, not realizing that Joe had fallen asleep in the last few minutes. He, awakening to find that I wanted him to stand or sit in the wagon, was not at all interested. The five of us ended up laughing hysterically, as I would set him down, and his brothers would grab hold.

After a few seconds he would wriggle away and take off running in stocking feet, always towards the house.

I would grab him, and get another photo of the back of his head before he'd wriggle away again.

The last time, he must have had an extra few steps head start, as he made it to the steps into the house before I caught up. I carried him back to the wagon, only to find it abandoned, and silence on every side. How could three giggling boys be so quiet and so vanished, so quickly?

We found them hiding behind the truck. The late afternoon winter sun glared, but we giggled all the more. What a moment to remember.