(No photos, because hostesses don’t have time for such things.)
Last night, we hosted our first party at our new house. As Cate said, “You haven’t really moved in until you’ve thrown a party.” And so now we’re official. We gathered in the backyard to celebrate Guion’s birthday AND his amazing cobbler-making skills. I announce it freely: My husband is a way better cook than I am. It’s taken me two years to admit it, but there it is. Pyrrha did amazingly well with the whole party, considering we had 20 new people swarming her yard. By the end of the night, she claimed the picnic blanket as her throne and watched us, mere minions, flit about her.
Caleb is with us this weekend, having made his annual summer sojourn to Charlottesville. He is helpful and funny and speaks Guion’s language in a way that few other people do.
I am reading this oft-mentioned article right now and have been pondering its many ramifications; poor Caleb got an earful when he was helping me with the dishes. I need some lady-friends to talk to about this. I need those long, rambling nights with Rose, Cristina, Emily, Kathryn, Catherine…