She'll be nine on Sunday; giggly girl hi-jinks and cupcake consumption will take place on Saturday evening, pictures to follow. Overall, this year has flown by with just a few days that were seemingly exponentially longer than others. Like the day she noticed I had two asses and just recently, a banner day as she, rather flabbergasted, noted her awe at my ass's ability to fit into a bikini. This just seconds before stating, "How cute..." she thought it was that, "Daddy (my follicle-challenged favorite guy) uses shampoo!"
So yeah, we'll be taking our annual road trip immediately following on Sunday morning. Complete, with our uber observant and exceedingly loquacious newly nine year old, and Puberty man accompanied by his rather large collection of some of the most cacophonous material coined music that the free world has ever heard. I'll be riding shot-gun with Itinerary Man aka Trip Fascist, aka the favorite guy. We actually bode fairly well until a map reading request is made or worse, as he assigns street sign reading duty and, requests ample turn notice while (This is the kicker...) driving at Nascar-esque speeds. Familial bliss. No, seriously it all actually ends well every year. How? I don't know, it just does.
If you don't see much of my magical musings, no worries I'm here in spirit and more comedy is imminent if you just believe.