Everyone in my house has got the spring fever. Kirsten is making all these yummy warm-weather foods, even though it's only about 80 degrees out. Pssh, I'm not complaining.
Leah asked the other day if we'd help her with her solo for the play that she's going to be in, and like the brilliantly angelic sisters that we are, we all said "Yes! Of course we will, dear sister!" in perfect harmony around the dinner table. What? Not realistic. Pssh...
(Kit, be quiet. Pssh is SO a word.)
Now, since it's finally warm outside, the lot of us decided to go out there to do the practicing. Kirsten brought a picnic basket and a blanket to sit on. We lived on a hill that overlooks a pretty meadow, so it was just the right place to set up. Kirsten wore that straw hat of hers with the black ribbon and cherries and looked about three times prettier than anyone else in the party. Everyone else professed to be as unladylike as possible (Seriously? Who has time for sitting and not getting your skirt dirty?).
We helped Leah like we said, but somehow the afternoon turned into a major singalong from every single musical that we had ever watched in our lives. With six of us to sing (and we're all pretty good, I'd wager), we could have lots of parts and harmonies and all that good stuff. A special favorite with us right now is Les Miserables, and so we did One Day More for the big finale. I'm sure that if anyone had been listening, at least three girls would have died from embarrassment on sight, but we didn't see anyone except birds.
I like to imagine that we all sort of looked like this, laying on the grass and singing:
Yeah. Probably should have brought my guitar...
Love,
Julie
