we got another photo of our littlest today. i wish i could share his grin with y’all, but i shall try to put words to it instead: it’s one part silly-shy and eight parts shining cheeks and just innocent enough that you suspect he’s actually up to something. my, but i’m a fool for that kid.
the mister has been gone to a far away meeting sixteen hours and counting today, and i cannotwait for him to shuffle back through that door so he can see how our smallish boy has grown.
please hurry, mister.
please hurry, court date givers.
a couple of you asked in this here post to spill the goods on my bestest childhood friend, and i almost forgot to answer till just now. actually, i wove in and out of childhood bff’s (so maybe just bf’s?), but my first bestie was next-door-stacey, who—you guessed it—lived smack dab on the other side of the fence.
when we were little, we’d shimmy up the poinciana tree in my front yard and whittle away whole summer mornings. there’s something about perching a good ten feet above the world, veiled in ferny leaflets, that makes it easy to suspend reality. on the ground we were a pair of sensible third graders in pigtails, but up there we were world-class chefs, espionage extraordinaires.
stacey was bright and an introvert and just the right amount of goofy requisite in a good friend. she wore humility close like skin, and boy did she ever love Jesus. (she loves him still. more.) (makes me wish she were once again my next-door-stacey, though i’m doubtful she fancies a move to iceland.)
exhibit a. iceland.
[this here is what i call Screen Bokeh. it's bokeh-y light through the screened window of l's bedroom. watch when i zoom in.]
screeny and fun, yes? aren't you glad we're friends? :)
today was our 457th snow day in the past two weeks (or 7th, if you’re not feeling the hyperbole). in the morning, i set the littles to work while i got orders shipped out and slipped in a few hours of labor myself. ‘twas a strange and wondrous thing to check in on them every few minutes and find all four earnestly pressing color to page and swimming in imaginings.
[He Who Must Not Be Photographed was up to his wiley camera-dodging ways, so you just get the three pictured above. c'est la vie. c'est my kid.]
and now i must be off to press my nose against the window until the mister arrives.