Jeremy and I got into an argument earlier this week about the state of our garden. Technically speaking, we do divvy up the chores in the opposite traditional gendered way where I do a lot of the yard / house stuff and Jeremy does all the kitchen / cooking stuff. But I think a neutral party would say that he does a better job at his stuff than I do at my stuff. I try! I try! But the yard just keeps growing. You leave it alone and it morphs into a beast with tentacles and then I bow down in defeat until winter comes. Then I feel triumph and relief. I bring this up only because we were invited to our next-door-neighbor’s kid’s 1st birthday party and the way between the two houses looked like:
If I won a bazillion dollars in the lottery, the very first thing I would do would be to hire a gardener.
A one-year-old’s birthday party is not really our demographic anymore, but Vince still seemed to enjoy the ball pit.
Edda napped in our folding chair and then woke up to wipe the sleep out of her eyes.
Here’s the birthday boy and a beautiful picture of his mother’s tattoo which I am fond of. I don’t love many tattoos, but hers somehow I feel the slightest pull in my heart towards – California poppies.
