Yesterday was my thirty-third birthday. (I'll pause while you break out in song. Thank you, that was lovely.)
Still recuperating after planning last weekend's events, I had but one request: a simple morning that allowed me to sleep in and go yard sale-ing. Papa and my sweet boys obliged, waking me up gently at NINE O'CLOCK with French Toast, coffee, and this incredible necklace Papa knows I've long coveted.
After breakfast we set out on a yard sale expedition. It was, I might add, the most beautiful day in recorded history. I would like this Christmas to be entirely secondhand, reused, recycled or handmade. This was the goal in mind for today's journey, and with a single estate sale, I got a great start. I found several vintage children's toys and books in great condition.I found a collection of 1940's photographs that I'll use in some to-be-determined creative way for my stepmother, a.k.a. The Horse Whisperer.I found a stack of books whose recipients are yet to be named, as they may be reading this post.And for myself, happy-birthday-to-me, I found a collection of vintage quilting books and patterns, and some darling fabric.
The rest of the day found us enjoying the slowness and allowing our children to crack us up. I don't know what it signifies--that I'd rather buy fabric and laugh at my kids for my birthday than get dressed up and go to a fancy restaurant--but I can live with that. In fact, I'm pretty darn pleased with myself. Here's to a great thirty-fourth year!