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20 April 1983

My twenty-sixth birthday came and passed without too much fuss, which is just how I'd like it to have been. Of course there was a party, but it was small since the studio doesn't hold many people and I might have picked there because it is so small.

I'm heading to Sweden next month for a show; it'll be nice to be back at home for a few days. I've had this constant, dull headache behind my eyes that potions haven't been able to fix for the past two weeks, so hopefully that'll solve that, as well. I have a feeling it might.

I can feel myself slipping lately

3 March 1983

It's Francis' birthday in twenty days. Is anyone interested in a party? For the record, Andreas and Zacharias both are very, very interested in a party, replete with streamers, cake, and balloons. But not, for whatever reason, party hats.

27 February 1982

Tomorrow is Zacharias' second birthday, sort of, and Sarah and I have been married for just a bit longer than that. It doesn't seem like it's been that long, but it has and I can say that I'm happy. I haven't really been able to say that, at least not truthfully, in a while. I think most of it is Andreas and Zacharias' fault, even though fault gives a bit of a negative connotation, because it's so hard not to be happy around such lively and energetic boys who are just discovering the world for the first time. They're precious to me and I'm going to give them as much as I can.

Not to mention that I'm getting better at not dwelling on the past. That isn't to say that I don't remember and hurt for Esmi and Sylvie, but I think they'd want me to be happy. It's taken years for me to realize that, nearly seven. Sylvie tired endlessly to keep me that way and only now do I really appreciate that. I fought her every step of the way, I wouldn't let myself be as happy as I deserved to be, nor as happy as she wanted me to be. But I loved her, just as I loved Esmi and just as I love Sarah now.

It's been beautiful weather here in Kent and hopefully it'll hold out for Zacharias tomorrow, I promised him a chance to play outside. I think both of my sons are getting a little restless inside all the time.

I can't say when the next time I'll pick this up will be, I see that it's been since last August that I did, but it's time consuming juggling family with being a productive artist, and not to mention a commercial one. I'll be better at it than my mother was, though.

28 August 1981

Weeks I've been working on this (relatively) large painting and I couldn't seem to finish. I didn't know what it needed and for the sake of not overdoing it and ruining it I left it sitting alone in the studio only to come back today with an idea and find that there were tiny and tinier handprints all along the bottom. I suppose it's pointless to say that it was large enough that it needed to sit on the floor rather than an easel-- I don't think I could have raised the ceiling that much.

But it was perfect; nothing that I wanted to do could have made it better. Now if they could only learn to write their names, I'd have them sign it.

Ah, otherwise, doing just fine. Everyone's brilliant here; literally and figuratively I suppose. Lille was here just the other day. She's been coming around more often and I can't tell you how much it makes my skin crawl-- she just has this look in her eyes with Mireille and Lukas who are surprisingly well-behaved and very nice children if not a bit spoiled. Andreas and Zacharias don't seem to mind them, at any rate. I can't really pretend like they aren't terribly spoiled themselves.

30 January 1981

I doubt I would have ever found this if I hadn't cleaned out my desk this morning. I was looking for my quill that writes in whatever color I'm in the mood for and here this is, laying right under it. It looks like we're starting out black, perhaps the charm's already worn off. I'm not particularly depressed or angry or anything. Though I think angry is usually a bright, fiery red.

I'm inclined to agree with you, Sarah, if adorable is eating nearly an entire banana then uneating it right on his father's lap. Of course I suppose the adorable part comes in when he giggles about it after. He's still incredibly blonde, though. I would have thought he'd grow out of it.

And Andreas told me today, just earlier this morning in fact, that he'd like to have a toy broom. I can't imagine who is filling his head with this Quidditch nonsense.

Look at this, blue. That's much better. I wonder if it'll be any lighter.

Unfortunately, I've run out of things to say so

I haven't got much else to say. Nothing interesting, really, has been happening lately. Everything's the same: Galleries, babies, sleeping, eating...

25 October 1980, late

Thank Merlin, at least he's alive.
Not awake. But alive.
It's late, though.

11 July 1980

I guess the only thing I regret about being a father is that I am not nearly wide enough across to let two boys and a puffskein sleep on my chest. Andreas gets jealous sometimes, but he doesn't understand that he had an entire year of it before his brother came along and most of the time, when it's naptime, we all end up on the bed instead.

Other than that and the occasional sippy cup being thrown about, things are pretty peaceful around here. I don't really have much more to say, but my family and I are all alive and well.

And Zacharias is over his sniffles, thankfully.

But I think that everyone who isn't going to go to the Eurocup matches is more than welcome to bring their children over for a playdate.

28 April 1980

Andreas is ill. He's been coughing all day and he's had a bit of a temperature and the poor boy is so miserable. He doesn't even want to play with anything except Zacharias and of course we can't let him near the baby. He's got an appointment at St Mungo's soon and I hope they can do something for him other than to give him a small dose of Pepper Up potion. I did that earlier and it hasn't helped; at least he's down for a nap right now.

Everyone was right; New York was wonderful and Sarah and the boys and I had a lovely time, even though we did have a bit of a run-in with Andreas and one of those large yellow moving things. (Sometimes I regret teaching him to walk.) We were guaranteed on arrival that we wouldn't be interacting with Muggle things, but... that's about how well that worked out, I think. All but two of my paintings sold and I'm not sure how I feel about that, really, especially since the other two are going to hang in the gallery far after the show stops running. They've asked me back and I don't know how I feel about that, either.

It's neither here nor there, though, I suppose.

I haven't been doing much of anything in the past week but catch up with Eveline on what I'm doing this summer. I don't want to know what she's got in store.

Everything's going as well as it can, though, with the exception of Andreas and I'm sure it's only a bit of bronchitis or something equally as harmless. I can't ask for much more. Except maybe to avoid a sore throat.

3 April 1980

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On Thursday, Sarah, Andreas, Zacharias and I are leaving for New York City. It's due to be an experience, that's for certain. If it's anything half as busy as London proper or Stockholm, it's going to be completely bloody overwhelming. I've only ever seen photographs and they tend to look rather horrifying; those buildings are so unnecessarily tall.

And, somehow, it doesn't seem that it's only been a month and a few days since Zacharias was born. And Andreas is already walking (I say walking, he wobbles for a few steps and falls over and laughs at himself) and talking a little...

And congratulations, Geordain. Callisto. Good luck to you both.

2 March 1980

The lovely Eveline Peasegood presented me with a packet of papers this morning outlining my next gallery showing.

In New York City.

For an entire week in April, though I only really have to be there opening night.

The general idea I was given was that I have to go or else they're going to be so offended that I didn't that they're going to make sure I don't have a career, even in Sweden.

It's good that I'm actually a little excited.

And it's come to my attention that I might have forgotten to say how Sarah was doing in my excitement to tell you all about our son. But she did beautifully and still is. My mum's in town at the moment, too, which is always great. Especially since I only see the back of my eyelids anymore when I blink.