In the heaviness of this world, I work to remind myself of first. Of how unnecessary my pointer finger is for clicking and how important my eyes are for collecting the captured. My heart bundles the broken just as much as the bliss.
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- This is me. No make up. Rattle trap hair. And on the way to the public library with my boys.
- I'm also re-wearing these pants unwashed AGAIN tonight to Kenny's ball game.
Basked in moo-moos with brilliant floral printed flare. I dig you, Mrs. Roper. You eeked jewelry large. Draped & bobbled about you. You were svelte in the Santa Monica sweltering humidity. Flamboyant in your ways dealing with Stanley, better yet, Chrissy. Animated & alert for nothing more than life. In cahoots half the time for the next big scene of hilarious adventure. You, Mrs. Roper, are where it's at.
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I love the radicalness of a cardigan with denim shorts. Mixing mint with electric blue, Meg? Um, yeah. The bootie. Ahh, the booo-tayyyy. It's in, peeps. Now is the time to cover those crusty, chipped toenail polished feetsies. And who doesn't love a good ole worn out tee? One so soft it may just serve as a sleeper shirt too. Did I say that out loud?
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