Three is a magic number

We prepped for the big day for several weeks.


When I admitted to myself I wouldn't finish making Baby KhaKah a new wardrobe by hand in time, I borrowed a sewing machine from a friend and hired a tailor for the day, who freehanded two dresses, two pants, a skirt, and a matching apron and hat that look suspiciously like an antique uniform. Scout was enraptured.



For little school we made a pinata, one layer every day.


Finally, we picked candy and stuffed it like a turkey.


But oh, disappointment! The morning of the party, Scout crawled into our bed with a fever, then slept the entire day.


Precious, who had been as excited by the preparations and the promise of the candy you get to collect, as I think a seven-year-old can be, had to settle for playing in a bucket of water with the little boys while Scout slept on.


But it did happen the next day, and a couple friends could even make it despite the changes.









Dear Scout, your birthday will also always be my birth day, and I love April 21st for both inseparable reasons. Most of all I love you, my girl, inseparably, beyond reason. ox, Joh