It's Easter Sunday . . .
. . . and if I can indulge in an aside only 3 words into this post . . .
Eff-you, you snobs at Westlake High School in 1995 who made fun of me for referring to Easter Sunday and Easter Monday - "What, do you have Easter Tuesday in Canada too? Ha ha!" Way to make the new Canadian girl in class feel welcome, assholes! And you know what, you flaky twats? Jesus rose after three days. THREE! From Good Friday to forget-it's-a-religious-holiday-and-continue-on-with-your-hypocritical-lives-Saturday is one day. To oh-we're-Christian-again-Sunday is two days. To Easter Monday is three DAYS! He rose. We eat ham. You're just pissed because my French was better than yours.
. . .
And that's certainly not how I intended this post to go, but sometimes you have to just let those pop-into-your-head-thoughts out. On the internet. For all to read and judge. Well, who am I kidding, I have 4 followers.
I was actually going to post about how peaceful and lovely my house is at the moment with David out and Sam napping. I was going to wax poetic about the joys of parenting and what a lucky wife and mother I am. But I don't think I can do that now. It might seem forced and somehow disingenuous.
So instead, here are some recent pictures of the boy. He is cuter than any baby those girls in high school who teased me will ever have.