I still haven’t shared all my lovely loot from the wonderful USofA – most notably the whimsical dress from JCREW. O_O I. Can’t not shout when I say that name. Or think of that name. It just tingles me. And as apology for not sharing that and the WELLIES! EEE! Here’s another delightful dress picked out by the hubby.
I know what you’re thinking. You’re thinking, “Is she making that splendidly foolish expression on purpose, perhaps in jest?” And the answer, mon puce, is no. Totally unintentional, organic ugliness. Enjoy. Also, this dress now reveals itself to be a frenemie. Feeling wonderful and making me look like a tub.
Hmm. This post has taken an unfortunate turn. Let’s talk about how we in Quebec spent our 4th of July holiday, then.
It tasted like freedom, too. Mm. The goodness. We also had those red white and blue rocket pops – ‘member those?! And taught Ezra – you know that kid who sings Oh Canada – the Pledge of Allegiance. (He knew the “liberty and justice for all” part. Thanks, Evan Almighty!) We had two Canadian friends over and ate ourselves happy. It’s not a barbeque if you’re not hosting! Oh and then get into a super serious discussion. Which we did.
And as my child’s seventh birthday creeps closer (by which of course I mean I feel like a train on a perilous track, no way to stop, no way to go back, snowball that’s gathering speed down a hill, going faster and faster and faster until! TOMORRRROW NIGHT, TOMORROW NIGHT!) ::ahem:: Um.
Let’s just reconvene down here. Right, so my child is a big boy. In theory, at least, because to be honest, he still wears a size 5 and has grown vertically but not horizontally in a while. Before I got married, so you know, right around puberty, I really wasn’t one of those girls who dreamed about kids. Or marriage. Actually, I dreamed about how much I’d neglect my poor husband while I was off being a tycoon of some sort. And I don’t remember the first time I thought about kids’ names. And I don’t remember the first time that thinking about kids’ names was for real kids and not kids in one of my books. What I do remember is that whenever I even began taking into account that husbands might happen before I was 40 and said husband might want a child – I lamented that kids didn’t even seem fun after they hit like six.
So here we are in the month of my son’s seventh birthday. And lemme tell you, the novelty, she has not waned. If anything, she grows. The obsession deepens. (I’m gonna read this at your wedding, Ez. And your high school graduation. And on prom night before you and your date tear away from the house.) But here’s why: