Can it really be February?
Otherwise known as The Month I Have to Hand Over the Manuscript I Only Started Three Months Ago.
I have 23 days. I promise not to count it down every day on here until the due date.
You know I don’t blog on the weekends, so there’s that respite for you.
It’s also the month of love. And the love notes are flying around here.
Lulu brought home this picture she made in preschool. That’s her in the yellow with the eyelashes that go over her head. She must use Latisse.
I thought the boy on the right was S*, the self-professed boy she’s going to marry from her class, but apparently there has been a changing of the guard.
“S is TOOOO naughty,” she explained. “He presses the elevator button when he’s not supposed to.”
“That’s R,” she continued, pointing to the purple boy.
“The only naughty thing he does is move when I try to sit by him.”
I must be doing something right to have R’s avoidances not be classified as rejection, but just him being “naughty.”
Go get him, girl.
*names changed to protect the innocent, and the guilty. That’s you, S. Leave the elevator button alone.
Gigi got a “love letter” yesterday from her Sunday School class and more specifically, Jesus.
I’m not one to question the love of our Savior, but this is the hardest danged dot-to-dot I have ever seen in my life.
I stared at it for ten minutes with glazed over eyes before I figured out that there was no number 1.
Seriously, Jesus, not cool. And I think that pun is a little beneath you too.
But when I want true romance, I need not look any further than my email inbox.
I haven’t seen much of my husband this last week between all the craziness with the book and his new firm. So I was touched when I saw the message from him with the subject line “Love” and I was excited to see the attachment.
Was it a little sketch he drew for me?
A love poem?
A picture of us together from our trip?
I excitedly opened the attachment.
And immediately remembered the girls playing on his laptop the night before.
Still, his message is clear.
He loves me.
And blind hens in pink dresses and tiaras.
I’ll take it.