This weekend marks the Middlest's birthday, my April ray of sunshine is turning seven, and I've been busy planning a pirate themed backyard extravaganza. Would you think it impossible to find red and blue bandanas for making swarthy pirate hats? I can tell you it is.
We've made cannonballs out of balled up newspaper covered in black electric tape, a plank to walk across while carrying said cannonball in a shovel, a blue tablecloth ocean covered in islands for a pirate version of musical chairs and a treasure chest pinata full of confetti and plenty of Haribo sweeties.
Wish me luck. And watch for his special birthday post on Sunday.
Finally, while not party planning and scaring my French neighbors with scantily clad laundry hanging I have been preoccupied with a new book. It's the fictionalized story of Hemingway in 20s Paris told through his first wife. There's a lot of happiness turned melancholy, booze-filled afternoons, days spent plucking away on a typewriter and pages cut lean by Gertrude Stein's editing. Oh, and impromptu living room boxing matches.
And so there they are; my excuses laid bare. I hope you'll understand.
Until Sunday, bon weekend everyone.