Julia is just like her father: they are both planners. Their brains (of their own accord and without consulting anyone) automatically formulate elaborate plans dictating exactly how the day is supposed to go. I, who rarely plan further than a few hours in advance, often don’t discover their agendas until I have unwittingly trespassed against them. A bedtime rarely goes by that Julia doesn’t sit bolt upright in bed and cry, “OH, NO! We didn’t have our puppet show!”
Puppet show?
Lately it’s been a “tea party”. After several nights of tea party lamentations, this morning Julia finally got her wish. It followed my planning process exactly: on sheer whim I discarded the craft project I was beginning and took a Dora The Explorer towel out of the linen closet. We spread it on the living room floor and began to assemble a feast of animal crackers, sliced poundcake, and root beer floats with mint ice cream (the tea). There was much pinky-lifting, teacup clinking, and vaguely british-accented conversation. Now my children have had enough sugar to last them the coming week, but tonight at least I won’t be hearing about overlooked tea parties. Instead, I’m sure, there will be an (un)birthday party we failed to throw!
Rebekah:
I love to read everything you write, even the account of certain living room tea party sounds like prose. Of course knowing your Julia I know you have in your hands another Sara Redelfs Peterson.
Love,
Mama
That’s good right mom?! You know I can read this too