Rained out this morning, and Auntie Amy flew out on Swissair through the clouds.
Kids tough to wake up in their warm bed with rain pelting the skylights. I hustled to get ready before they awoke, and the chocolate cake/ACE juice breakfast beguine began.
Bathroom dark; the mirror in there is decayed even in bright light. In twilight and shadows it is positively impressionistic, which can be kind light indeed for a 43yo mama. Gotta represent. Gotta keep the bella figura even with sleep deprivation, a full-time job, a husband with an even fuller-time job, and two very small children in varying states of health.
But my blush brush went awry and my blush didn’t match on my cheeks. I looked like a Modigliani. I didn’t realize this until after dropoff.
So I looked up Modigliani. Handsome fellow, no? Cut down at 36 by consumption. Also: Tuscan. Did I know this before? Why did I not? Livorno boy. Buried in Paris, you know where, where everyone is buried.
Also: Spinoza’s descendent.