eight

A Springtime Flower Party
It feels a tad weird to be writing about Springtime and flowers while currently traveling through winter weather, but Spring has already sprouted in our southern home: trees budding, wildflowers sprinkling the highways, songbirds chirping
eight.
We pierced your ears last weekend, a gift and milestone for your eighth year. You sat straight and still, without so much as a flinch, a picture of your unwavering personality.  Blythe, you have an
eight.
Burke, this evening at 10:36 you turned eight. Even now, as I listen to your unrestrained laughter with friends in the other room, I can scarcely believe it. Eight years. Just. Like. That. Most mornings,