I’ve been working on our Christmas newsletter and trying to squeeze each sentence into the narrow space between informative and bragging that entertains without either putting readers to sleep or making them feel bad about themselves. (I could always go the other direction and detail all our struggles of the past year, but while it might give others a luscious little burst of superiority, it’s not really what doting grandparents are hoping to read.) This politically correct newsletter-writing business is hard work, so I’m taking a break to brag about my family here. Cue the ‘60s doo-wop: “It’s my blog, and I’ll brag if I want to…”
Natalie picked up one of our Christmas books this afternoon and read a poem out of it. Considering she didn’t know a single phonics rule at the beginning of the summer and we haven’t worked on reading since school started, I’m amazed… and ridiculously proud of her. She’s already famous at school for her artistic talent, and she’s beautiful to boot. I love that girl.
Sophie’s beautiful as well and superbly talented at color-coordinating her forehead with her clothes. She is one seriously hilarious kid, whether she’s singing a ballad about pretty, pretty poops or passionately kissing her socks because she’s so happy to be wearing them. Plus, she gives the world’s best hugs, and I’m the lucky recipient of many of them. I love that girl too.
This is one of my favorite pictures of a man who is holding down a full-time job and working on his PhD and training for a marathon… who still finds the time to play hide-and-seek with the girls and to spend the last hours of each day with me. He also makes a mean cappuccino and can make me laugh even when I’m hungry (no small feat). It goes without saying, but I love him too.
Okay, gushing out of my system; back to work. ::cracks knuckles:: Thanks for letting me bypass the rules of propriety, if only just for one doo-wop-inspired blog post. “You would brag too if they happened to you…”