I posted again two days later, on March 5th, and then from the 6th to the 9th, I decided I should make this a daily habit.
All of that transpired and it was good and we're glad we did it and we'd do it again.
It left not much time for journalling. . . .
And even on Monday morning, after they've all gone home and we've slept right through (turns out that as proud as you can be of a Two for getting up to pee in the middle of the night so that he doesn't wet his diapers, your sleep is nonetheless disrupted when someone approaches you shortly after midnight to say, "Nana, I need to go pee"). . . . our tanks are registering as nearly Empty.
So I will merely transcribe these two journal entries for you, add a photo of the maple leaves thinking, in their teeny buds, about sunshine and stretches, and we'll call it a Monday, okay?
Transcription for March 7th entry:
So far only one snowdrop has bloomed in the pot Paul filled with bulbs last fall, before we left for Italy. There are at least a dozen set of leaves pushing through the soil, though -- I'm not at all sure that they will produce flowers this year, but I'm hopeful they will in future years, hopeful that one year, there will be enough of them blooming that I'll dare to scoop up a spadeful or two, post-bloom, and plant them in another pot. We talk sometimes of moving to a condo with more indoor space, but secretly, I want to keep this terrace garden as long as I can.
You can see that I've used paper to "redact"/block a few words, but if you'd like to know what I've written in the bottom left corner: Looking around this morning and thinking of all the pots I'd like to add underfill plants to. Some winter aconites and pulmonaria, a hellebore or two. Time to wander 'round a garden centre, I think...
March 9, 2018: The corylopsis racemes are beginning to shake out.
And the hydrangea leaves, on the bare branches we're watching carefully for evidence the scale insects are back . . . 'cause if they're back, we're going to chase 'em. . . and squish 'em. . .