Yesterday, I turned 35.
Tomorrow, Julia will be 7.
Today, we had playgroup and Monster cupcakes.
“Don’t call me Gaga.”
Here are a bunch of them ready to go to t-ball.
Monster cupcakes: “We’re gonna eat you!”
T-ball team: “Not if we eat you first!”**
** This is totally a made up conversation. Monster cupcakes don’t talk. They use telepathy. Look at the dude up front and center. What is he telling you?
Tomorrow Julia will wake up with a dollar bill under her pillow along with a clue that will lead her to another dollar bill with a clue that will lead her to another dollar bill until she has a dollar bill for every year she has lived. Since she considers herself “rich” with a whole $4 in her bank, I’m thinking the seven dollar scavenger hunt is gonna blow her mind. I’m taking bets for how many days will go by before I have to ask her for a loan. (Insider tip: three days is a good bet, but if you win, that means I’m broke and couldn’t pay you anyway. You may want to make a bet with Julia.)
Tomorrow night, Julia’s BFF will be coming over for a Spajama Party. That’s right – SPAjama Party. We’re going to do their nails and facials and put cucumber slices over their eyes and washable pink highlights in their hair. There will be a Dr. Scholl’s foot bath involved. Pizza will be eaten as well as ice cream cake. And while Julia blows out her candles and wishes for something like a lifetime supply of cotton candy, I’ll be praying she doesn’t get knocked up in high school or a DUI and makes it to college and graduates before she starts worrying about finding someone to commit to because there’s no need to rush. There’s plenty of time for everything. “Life is long,” I tell her. Until your baby is turning 7. Then it’s way too short.