alors, i found myself at my nephew's 2nd birthday extravaganza, sitting amongst my family, lovingly watching mon cher plow through various food stuffs and a birthday cake armored with the thickest layer of butter cream frosting i've ever seen.
he was actually much more excited by the fruit platter, which makes me happy. he sure knows how to demolish some watermelon, lemme tell ya.
my nephew, brandishing utensils like the suburban warrior that he is, sat there giggling. his hair was a puffy ball of baby fuzz - all curly and wavy and out of sync. his face, scraped from smearing it against a concrete wall the day before as he attempted to climb fences with the big boys. oversized jeans, cuffed at the ankles AND waist to keep them from slipping off of his lanky legs.
my nephew was a hot mess.
as we all gorged ourselves on celebratory delectation, he sat there, poking at his wall of butter cream and let out one word that stopped us all in our tracks.
"happy"
we all paused and stared in wonderment.
this simple little word, spoken with complete sincerity and enthusiasm, has the ability to disarm an entire army of cynics...this army being my family.
don't get me wrong. we all strive for so-called happiness...but it's a concept that one seldom feels like they've obtained...even partially.
but a baby & his birthday banquet...boom: happy.
he paused a few times, furrowed his eyebrows and thought about it some more.
after much contemplating, he repeated it.
happy...
smiling and nodding...he, matter-of-factly, said it one more time.
happy.
i was overcome by a deadly typhoon of nostalgia and sadness. i realized that there was, probably, a point in my life where i must've felt the same way he did. when life was uncomplicated and my birthday dress, strawberry shortcake and paper crown were all i needed to be content.
i began to wonder what i had accomplished in my life that would've made petite fille friday happy (ya know, aside from matching hangers in my closet).
let's take a moment to rehash petite fille friday's dreams & aspirations, shall we?
- i want to be a farmer (fail...although, "farmer" does not specify what is being farmed...if it is a farmer that cultivates drawings, daily ramblings and feasts on the hopes of children...then it's an epic win. ok, yeah. i fail...you don't need to rub it in.)
- i want to be a ninja (i don't have the ability to run through a snow storm and not get hit by a single snowflake...so, fail.)
- i want to be a museum director (i am a museum visitor...fail.)
- i want to be a fashion designer (i am a fashion enthusiast...fail.)
- i want to be an artist (that's loaded...i get all awkward and uncomfortable labeling myself as such...and when people label me as one, i get all "pshaw" and "oh, no, no" about it...TBA.)
- i want matching hangers in my closet (EPIC WIN!!!)
- i want to be happy (TBD)
huh. yeah.
i'm probably going to work on that last one.
the other aspirations just don't seem as important to me now.
i do, however, plan on maintaining matching hangers wherever i end up in life. this small sliver of unity, in the form of garment organization, calms me like the tender winds of perfumed air wafting off the luscious prairies of nutella and toast on a sunday morning.
it's good for my mental health.
aaaanyway, i spent the rest of this familial bonanza on the floor with the young birthday boy, helping him put together a legendary train set complete with a vehicle that moves on its own through tunnels and up little hills. a plastic contraption with all the bells and whistles...literally. it even has a little chunk of white, bubbly plastic that bumps up and down, pretending to be smoke.
he oooooohed and aaaaaahed every time the train would go through the tunnel...and would echo my choo-choo's...his glee was undeniable...and his long diatribes of oh's and ah's and eeee's and choo-choo's inevitably always ended with a very succinct "happy."
if anything, the little guy put my faith back in the youth. there are still dreamers in this world.
what a relief.
in other news, i killed a chipmunk.
the horror!!!
...on my way to see the paramour's parents.
trenchcoated and armed with some bright, yellowy-orange gerber daisies, i puttered along the local streets. my nerves, admittedly, a bit frazzled at the thought of spending time with these lovely people without mon amour.
suddenly, the little woodland creature skirted in front of my car and i instantly slowed down while releasing a long "noooooooooo", hoping to allow him time to figure out what was happening.
i checked my side mirror...
...and there he was.
on his back...i could've sworn his backhand was laying dramatically across his little, furry, four-legged forehead.
mort!
soon after, i walked into chez awesome (let's just say paramour's surname is awesome, ok?)...and, like i had stepped into a confessional, threw my hands up while offering the daisies and exclaimed, "i just killed a chipmunk!"
the guilt and shame emanated from my pores.
they tried to drown my sorrows with chicken stew, fresh chard, peach crumble pie, tea and bushels of very entertaining conversations that had me squealing with laughter and wide-eyed with wonderment.
dare i say, it totally worked.
r.i.p chipmunk.
o.m.g dinner (so good!)
i'm such an insensitive cretin.
...but you totally would've been the same way. stop waving your virtual finger of judgement at me.
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