Things are good. I enjoy my job and my life. Rhea is adorable and smart and fascinating and fascinated. She likes chapter books (especially Geronimo Stilton books), anatomy books, and acting out stories. She wants to be a veternarian when she grows up, but gets emotional and cries about the prospects of growing up because she won’t be able to play all the time and will have to cook her own meals. She’s been waking up in the night and barfing for a week now but is fine during the day and she missed her Christmas concert today because she can’t go to school within 24 hours of barging. She is 4 1/2.
We (Rhea and I) are going home to Newfoundland for the holidays. I haven’t been since I moved away in 2009. It will be good, but bittersweet. My good friend, Natasha, is in the final stages of terminal gastric cancer and has very little time left. She’s 38 and her boys, Noah is 6 and Raydan turned 11 today. It’s just not fair.
Gotta go. Rhea is up for her nightly barf.
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