|Sorry, Zuzu, it's picture time.|
Because it was ninety degrees outside.
(I did, however, have a momentary fear for all of the revelers. Irish holiday plus Saturday plus downright 4th of July weather conditions? Happy, drunken, glittery folks being swept downstream in the Chicago river. Wearing skimpy tops proclaiming bold statements. Perhaps even singing.)
Our festivities were way more low-key. It would be hard not to be. (Even with the ten children under seven years of age, it was quieter than anything going on a few 'hoods south. Even when they brought out the kazoos. And even after the sugar. Sugar and kazoos and ten little ones. Still quieter.)
We had the usual corned beef and cabbage. (I did, however, have no less than two people tell me that it reminded them of their Irish grandma's meals. Which could be good or bad, I suppose. Irish people do have a way of boiling dishes to death. Mine, however, is always fantastic. The secret is a brown sugar and Dijon mustard glaze- I've said too much.)
|Boden hugs the Zu. She approves.|
Picnic blankets and lawn chairs graced the [green!] backyard. For, as previously stated, it was midsummer.
We even had a glorious tiramisu cake, courtesy of a completely wise choice made by a four year-old dude. (Thanks, Calder!)
The baby wore a green tutu and a sweet onesie proclaiming her to be "A Wee Bit Irish." (Thanks, Annie!) The girl wore a green top and belted denim skirt and promptly announced that she would not be in any photographs. We agreed, but told Susannah that she did not have such an option.
|Uncle Nat snuggles Suzy, Nora |
accidentally gets her picture taken,
and Boden looks on in abject horror.
Mondays are always tough, especially after a jam-packed few days. (Why do you think so many kittens have to Hang In There and Don't Do Mondays? Because the day is so universally rough, that's why.)
But I'm ready to face this week with energy and zest.
Powered by the remaining tiramisu in the fridge.