The last one was a bonnet-donning, dead-eyed, arsenic-slipping Leiden parricide; I'm not taking any chances. Dutch serial killers only come around once in couple lifetimes, but they don't mess around. (Confessions of a Cookbook Queen's Kristan has similar neuroses, if you wish for further comedy).
Julian's first birthday, I baked and frosted two little layers for a miniature version of the real deal, and re-created the party scene in a fine-art card, which included a teeny tiny bunting (I'm obsessed right now- look at these shoes!!) and a clipping of my hair, sacrificed during my daily trim.
Fine art. Right.
Reunion is so sweet. Welcome home, my dearest!!!