Our trip to Cape Cod Saturday started off on a terrible note. Junior came down with a cold and Chuck had a stomach bug, but we couldn’t miss my step-father’s seventieth birthday. His daughter was having a lobster bake and really, how often do you get invited to one of those?
We made good time, despite getting lost and pulling over so Chuck could puke out the window. He’s such a trooper. And even though we were a few hours late everyone was really understanding, especially when they saw the side of the car.
The party was wonderful, it really was. There's the lobster pit (minus the 20 guys debating the best way to light it).
People loved Junior’s curls—they rubbed their buttery fingers through his hair so much he looked like he hadn’t bathed in weeks by the time we left the party. When I put him to bed he smelled like fresh dinner rolls.
This morning we had breakfast by the ocean. There was an air of peacefulness I wish I could have bottled and brought back with me.
(That’s me and Junior watching the boats make their way out of the inlet.)
(That's Junior giving his dad a big hug.)
When we unpacked the car tonight, two small seashells fell out of Junior’s socks. I’m putting them on his windowsill as a sweet reminder of my little man and how lucky we are to be celebrating so many birthdays.
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