Stella turned three this week. Happy birthday Angel-cake. My daughter's age is finally catching up with her height and precocious manner. Now I won't get that smug thrill anymore when people ask how old she is and I say, "Two," and they can't get over it, because she seems older than her tender years. So I'm into showing off about my kids. Apparently. Meanwhile, Hamish refuses to eat anything pink, so he got an ice cream cone. Meanwhile again, I should have saved myself the time and few bucks for the cake mix and just served Stella a can of pink icing. Kids.
My mother. Shiver. In this picture, she is holding forth on how much better-looking children are these days, much cuter than years ago, say, when I was a baby.
Meanwhile, Hamish is downstairs telling Bryan that he doesn't like when so many people come over because "Everyone is blah blah blah, and I hate to hear so many people talk!" Which explains why he spent the afternoon during his sister's birthday party in a cardboard box in the basement. He had the company of two friends and a plastic cash register, so it wasn't like a silent retreat, but I'm not surprised my kid doesn't go for the party-animal vibe. His sister has that territory covered.
Below, Stella takes a spin in her new princess dress. She decided against the silky cone hat, and we are teaching her how to lift the front of her dress so she doesn't trip over herself, and she is learning that some fabric scratches the skin until you want to rip it off in angry shreds. Still, I was tickled pink to see my daughter all dolled up in satin and tulle. Thank you Gigi and Grandpop for the fancy dress-up outfit. It's a ten.