Something I was totally up to writing diary notes on the shores of non-instagrambooks.
And how can they remember this summer without them?
With perseids over the house, coffee instead of vitamins (it's age-old, huh), with such a thoughtful daughter in her incomplete 5 years, for whom helping someone is an honor and unspeakable joy, and which she remembers (even all the time) memories of our boat life and almost all of our long journeys. We wonder: how ?! This is not the case! But no, here they are, our hundreds of little ones see daily. So she says, "Mom, I've seen a see!" - and you don't argue with her at all.
This summer - like many others, the previous ones, about new books, new translations (plus three translated children's books, oh!) and crazy workload. On the stack of air and train tickets and hotel reservations, which is constantly updated with new messages in the box.
And about the excitement of waiting for travel - Lord, is it all right? Every time I get so excited, I almost not believing that this is all with me. And that it can happen. In the rotation of a routine, it is so difficult to lift your eyes up and just wait quietly.
So I am waiting for vacations and business trips with great passion and impatience. And yet - with a tingle in my fingers for fear: will I cope?
In Frankfurt, apart from the particularly important meetings, I am waiting for two royal (exaggerating, but very little) banquets, and I look for all possible guides to good manners at and outside the table.
This summer, as in several previous years, there were significant proposals and important decisions, and I was much worried and crying trying to make the right decision. However, now that choice is in your pocket, there is peace in your heart.
Danya and I read books everywhere - in a hammock, in bed, on the floor, in the office, on the stairs. Sometimes we get out on a three-wheeled tour. Igor and Bohdan craft something from Lego and outline mountains of papers with sketches of projects - Igor is serious, and the child is convinced that she is, too, so she works with complete dedication.
In the garden, alternately hammocks with wigwams and downpours, I. and I talk for a long time on a large wooden swing (the combination of conversation topics and the surrounding landscape often causes cognitive dissonance, but even more interesting).
This troubled summer came with special rewards for me - works and books (now Pointe's among the bestsellers and Maryam's new literary prize).
Working nights, I watched a few movies - for the first time in many months, and I was kind of good.
Autumn is sending telegrams, and I think that during these incomplete three summer months, we have had almost no full days off; we had no mountains, but there were small ponds; there was no concert or theater, but there was a charming art exhibition in Zbarazh, there was a fantastic Book Arsenal, there were museums and art workshops, there were interviews and meetings with incredibly creative people. Not much time to read, but everything is very good.
At the beginning of the summer, a child (at 4.5) had mastered the sound of "p" by himself - the only one that still failed him perfectly. And at the end of the summer, she mastered reading aloud without our help.
Cautioned by modern researchers about early reading, I deliberately did not teach it. Playing piano scales, exercises and simple works (without notes, because this is another sign system) - please; add and subtract within twenty - super, especially since she has a penchant for math; translate orally from English children's books by mom's reading - we already have a little pro here! Draw, create, solve logical problems - I ask very much. But read - no, not taught. But she - and read us a long word out loud as we were having some adult conversations. And then more. But she doesn't tear her books - she loves it when her parents do it.
The air is already cool in the morning and evening. My grandmother and I collect-dry-melt spices for the winter. For the first time in years, neatly trimmed grass in the yard is increasingly covered with colored leaves, which wind blows from the trees and scatter around like confetti.
The girls at the mom's were serious and discussing the school.
I want pumpkin pies, and in the list of the desired again wool sweaters, many flowers, wicker socks, lace tablecloth and Uzbek spices for sailing.
And you still want red boots on a stud, listening to jazz and cinema.
Very soon, God will give my world habitual, in the autumn will expand - through new books, long journeys and unexplored lands, new learning, crisp coolness of the air, curly fogs in the morning, bright dawns and forging with friends.
In the meantime, August is shining with its special golden light, and this month is for me something special, trembling, and very tender.
As if I were a little Bilbo Hobbit, sitting in a dangerous Erebor and fingering the acorn found in a long journey - and quietly dreaming of returning to the Shire and planting it next to my cozy kidney.
Yes, autumn is close, but it's not terrible. For at every moment there are their stars, their teas, and their joys.