he woke up grumpy. kind of snotty. there was no convincing james into the firefighter jacket, kangaroo top or dog costume. he wouldn't even wear the hat.(jim wore it instead.)
dylan wanted to wear the entire contents of the dress-up trunk: i could be a doctor ballerina! a chicken fairy! a blutterfly princess! people are going to freak out when they see my costume.
that's my girl.
pink ribbons and hot glue fixes, tulle skirts and gossamer wings and we. are. ready.
friends drop by: redskins baller, hunter, another butterfly princess ballerina!and a fancy nancy ghost.
(not the ghost of fancy nancy, mind you. that would be morbid.)
{i don't exactly see the difference, either.}
we drive into town. it's like stars hollow, gazebo and all, but sadly lacking in troubadours.
the babes trick-or-treat along the business district. one hour of daylight is plenty of time to overfill tiny buckets.
(did you know that, given a choice, tiny ones choose lollipops over chocolate every time? not to self: coach them before next year.)
shuffling orange leaves, we walk toward the car.
what do you think about p-i-z-z-a? i spell in stealth mode.
PIZZA!!!! dylan almost falls off jim's shoulders for the thrill of it.
she is still three years old. we are in so much trouble.
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| i wouldn't leave you without pics of a costumed boy-babe |
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| the birthday boy is 2 |
