Monday, June 4, 2012

Turning Twenty One

Celebrated J's birthday this past week.

Twenty-one.

Oy vey. I'm not old enough to have a twenty-one year old.

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The Man and I each wrote a letter to J, telling him how much we love him and how proud we are of him. We spoke to him of what it means to be a man. But that we would always be behind him, supporting and loving him every step of the way. And leaving him to make his own decisions, unless he asked us for input.

Sounds so easy on paper.

We shall see.
He was gracious enough to pose for me for a few minutes. And I mean a few. Like three.

Only because I reminded him that we were taking him out to dinner wherever he wanted and he darn.well.better pose for me if he knew what was good for him. 

He doesn't take me seriously.

I don't know what happened. I used to be able to communicate my displeasure with a "look". But that doesn't work anymore. Now they give me a "look". Harrumph.

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So much for letting him make his own decisions. I decided he needed some input from me if I was going to get a few shots of him.
He wanted to do hibachi since P had never done that before. We went to one of our favorite places and he got to order his first beer.

He couldn't get that license out fast enough when the waitress asked him for i.d.

I had to hide my smile behind my camera.
Just a few shots from the back porch.


I found a tall wire basket a few months ago and knew right away what I wanted to do with it. The top rung of the basket is painted the same red as the seam of a baseball.


So what was going in the basket? Baseballs, of course! And since we had a few gloves lying around and an old wooden Louisville Slugger bat, they had to go in the basket too.


Are you ready for some baseball?


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I stepped out on the back porch one day and found a vase filled with wild roses on one of the little tables.


I questioned everyone. Kind of like Nancy Drew without a crime.


I must be good at this because I got a confession right away. It was the Man.


Of course I only got the confession because I gave J the credit, thinking he had done it for P that day. As soon as the Man heard me complimenting questioning J, he jumped right in and confessed.


A-ha! Nancy Drew wins again.
Fresh strawberries from the garden.

Fresh no-pesticides, no-fertilizers, 100% organic strawberries.

They're kind of small.

But they're clean.
Love this picture. I might have to frame it for the kitchen.





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