Dear Mom,
You are a painter.
I wish I were a painter.
Because there are pretty things here in Spain.
So, how about you come visit me and you can get ideas and go back and paint me some pictures?
Okay?
Okay.
Miss you lots and love you always,
you favorite middle child
Dear Dad,
I have now taken to reading the morning paper on the bus. No electronic versions and link clinking, but the actual paper.
Sometimes, I fold it as loudly as possible and rattle it so that it lays just so.
I guess the apple doesn't fall far from the tree?
Also: Please make Mom like olives before she gets here.
Love you,
me.
I'm jealous you're in Spain! :-)
ReplyDeleteVery sweet. Continue to love your blog Sarah. I just have one question. WHen do you have time to work in the classroom? LOL
ReplyDeleteLove you bunches.
Cute post and I love all the photos on your blog!
ReplyDeleteAh yes! the ever satisfying paper rattle. I knew you'd come around.
ReplyDeleteI think you and I will have to go on the olive tasting field trip while yo mama is practicing up for the oh so famous Spanish siesta.
Or i can grab a couple of those white bags from the seat back pocket
I'll barter with you - no olives for a painting! Can't wait to take in all the beauty and attempt to put it on canvas :)
ReplyDeleteI want to paint the picture from this post.
I wish I would have liked olives when I was there. Now I do and I so regret not enjoying them in Spain.
ReplyDelete