When we grow up.

A treasure was rediscovered this week.

(When you move every 6 weeks like we do, treasures are sometimes forgotten about, packed, misplaced and then found again. It's almost like Christmas every 6 weeks. Almost.)

The treasure was promptly taped onto the boy's bedroom wall.

Did you know that Macy wants to be a Mom when she grows up?

Twins please. One boy. One girl.

Did you know Noah dreams of being an astronaut? Who knew, right?

Ezra liked the looks of this one. Perhaps he is missing the liberating days of diapers and being able to eat his toes.

And surprise! Jace wants to be a farmer when he grows up.

I dreamed my whole life of this job here. And it is the life.

I used to do this. Happy days.

I spend an awful lot of my grown up life here, at this job. My mac isn't nearly as cute as that green, vintage typewritter and I would bet she has her heels on, with apron tied around her waist, and that she just put her 1st batch of bread in the oven.

Remember when you thought that was what grown up life was going to be like?

Macy started gymnastics.

The coach told her wearing a leotard was optional. Optional? Right. You try telling the 7 year old girl that she does not need to wear her pink leotard every single week. I watched her prance/shimi into class today in her pink leotard.

Remember when you used to feel beautiful in only a pink leotard? Remember when you used to walk with your hands out at your hips as you pranced into a room?

Those were the days.

Then we all grow up.

MY PRIVACY CLAUSE: I love to talk to people. I love to drill them about their lives. So, I assume that you want to talk and question me in return, so instead of waiting for you to do so, I go ahead and spill my beans. All my beans. All the time. And lately, just every once in awhile, I'll be spilling about my life to a relative, friend of a friend, stranger, ect. and soon their head is nodding, they are smiling and I have this feeling like - crap! I already told them this story. I hate when I do that. But then the person will just say - "I read it on your blog." Oh. So technically, I am that person that repeats the same stories over and over. Crap. Are you tired of hearing my stories over and over? Are you politely nodding and waiting for this story to be over right now? Crap. We are going private. But you like the taste of my beans? And you have not left your email address for me here? Leave me a comment. Leave me your email address. Leave both if you like. Just don't say I didn't invite you to partake of our beans - our left over - repeated beans.