Sketchy memories.

I was hunting for a lost poem today, looking through my old journals, diaries and sketchbooks. I found this one little book from 2002 with drawings of my kids, and little notes about them. It brought me back in a way that no photograph can.

The eldest daughter was nearly eight. She was always practicing her violin.

She was a tiny little person. Small but perfectly formed.

It's hard to believe she's now nineteen and going to University.

And this daughter was only five at the time.

Even then she was fastidious about her clothes; everything had to be fancy, velvet, sparkley or shiny. She's still got definite ideas about fashion now that she's sixteen.

Children move a lot, and ink on paper is unforgiving. See how I noted my error of proportions on her face?

This was my son, at two. He was a jolly little fellow!

I was going to clean up the pages a little in Photoshop, because you can see right through them to the writing on the other side. But I decided to just leave it...after all, it's only a sketchbook.

The Huz, in a quiet moment.

I loved to watch my children. I felt that if I could fill my eyes up with them, I'd never forget the joy they gave me.

So many memories.

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