Wednesday I was going to write about my son’s birthday. And how when you turn 12, you request to light your own candles. (And that at 15, you request to light said candles for your brother, and your mom giggles at you that you still can’t work a lighter.)
I was going to say how grown up he suddenly looks. And that cinnamon cake is the best cake.
Thursday I was going to say that birthday week always backburners all my regular mom things and that I finally got to clean out the fridge (only a week late) and that I never felt bad about myself for the delay. Just joy that I could have a nice time with my family. And a taaaad bit of regret that we didn’t finish those vegetables and the elderberry syrup.
Friday I was going to tell of the sad tale of Harley killing a rabbit in our yard at 5am. (No picture.) And of skillful (read: accidental) pancake art.
And more tales of the dog being so. incredibly. dog.
But I didn’t get a chance to share those stories this week, and now all I really want to say is that I can’t find my hair tie. Anyone got an extra?