tell me – tell me that your sweet love hasn't died

Hey, Christmas happened. And Boxing Day and then the snow-dumb winter days that followed. Plus: ice! Silly electricity dependent society. Oona had some minor viral attack but recovered in time to float the thought that she deserved more presents. Because having more stuff than the average African village just doesn't cut it these days. Who's worried about the future? Not me!

 Mommy or Grandma or some spooky aunt sent me a book. Fantastic! What else is there?

Rejecting Christmas dinner.

We made a snow castle! Daddy is my serf.

That toy that lets you write your name in the snow with dye? Garbage! But it does stain your hand for a day or two, making it look like you thrust your hand into a roaring fire.

Superstar! Can we go inside now?

Drawing at daddy's studio. Is that an electric pencil sharpener? How many pencils do you have? Are they sharp enough to kill someone? Why not?

I almost look angelic right now, but don't forget I called you a bum head earlier this morning. 

People are blue on the outside.

And red on the inside. Fact.

Later, we had chips and chocolate milk. Seemed legit.

What. Are there more chips?

And then a train to stay in Ottawa for a few days. Someone was *much* better this trip, mostly because I lied to her about how everyone had to be super quiet so the conductor could focus on keeping the train on the tracks.

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