We have just had three full days of heat.
Two scorchers and one blissfully pleasant Bank Holiday Monday, with a mild breeze.
Halcyon days where we get to be outside and bask.
Picture taking is vital in days like this as everything you knew so well changes tone. Shades from the colour spectrum come to visit that you may not see again for a long, long time.
Gigi, having just turned four, was waiting patiently for her birthday party (and if you believe that you will believe anything). We held it on Monday. In the Irish Sun. A rare, unique beast of beauty and magic. An insanity of people, baby wipes, playdoh, cake, crispie buns and Tayto crumbs- Gigi had a wonderful time.
I cannot believe she is four.
Her little pink cuteness swaddled sweetly in handknit crochet, cheek nestled onto a zebra snuggly is as fresh a memory to me as if it were today.
Now she can run. Talk. Tell me things.
On Friday she told me all about her friend’s dog.
Annie got a lovely doggy Mammy.
Aww- he sounds sweet.
Yes Mammy. Then he crashed into the car and got deaded.
Gulp. That took a turn.
Gigi thinks heaven is naughty- sometimes- as you go there when you are deaded. She thinks dead means sleep.
What do you say to those pearls?
Betsy asked Mr Paper to marry her the other day as they are best friends.
Both my little girls wore ‘wedding dresses’ for two days in our summer blitz. Gender is a strange thing. It takes a handle early and seems to buy into certain colours and toys. They spent the whole time playing in the garden, making me think of our home as a version of Petit Trianon. Josy at A Walk and a Lark you will be proud of my cherry blossoms!
We go to Birr and have lunch. A town with a real lived-in castle ( Lord Ross and family). We only have small hair pulling moments in the beautiful period restaurant nestled within an old family home called The Stables Emporium.
We tell the owner our lunch was ‘deelishus’ and we remind the server that she has orange hair (it was clearly a funky dye) just in case she didn’t know.
We have parties. There is cake and there are sparkly shoes. Marie Antoinette would be proud.
My girls are getting bigger. So fast. The cliche is cliche for a reason.
Happy birthday to my beautiful first born, our gift.