Curating

I have been a poor correspondent.

And likely I am only going to be worse in November as I attempt a very stupid task; but I have to do it. I think I thought that as Henry and Sophia got older they would be less dependent on me and more interested in the world around them and I would have more time to write about their new skills, not less.

This is not to say they are uninterested in their world – they just need to be…um....supervised.
Often. Or they do things like eat ladybugs.
Shoelaces.
Dog food.
Books.
And jack-o-pumpkins.

Yes, its been a busy month.

And sometimes I would rather be a matador to a highly-caffeinated bull than change Henry’s diaper.

No, seriously.

{NB these photos were taken at Old Sturbridge Village - not exactly a bull, this Ox was making cider - Henry and Sophia found it compelling. Oh and the Ox's name? Henry.}

 

I have started seeing myself as a Curator to Henry and Sophia – an overseer and manager of a special collection which needs extraordinary care and attention as it grows. One with visitors. One with a traveling exhibition, carrying cases, handling policies, no-flash photography rules. Frequent condition updates. One which is endlessly fascinating. Enchanting. Smile-inducing. Intoxicating and thrilling to see time and again.

 In line with this new mother-metaphor, I had them framed. See? Even matted they still retain their personalities.

Unbelievable.

I always wanted to be a curator.

I guess now I am.