The Builder's sister turns ssshhhh (fifty) this weekend.
I whispered so she wouldn't hear me telling. Another sister decided to give her a present of photos of all her nieces and nephews in a frame, so we all had to take individual photos of our kids.
She has no concept of how difficult it is for us to get our kids looking presentable.
Come on......they're on a croft. Sheep don't notice nice clothes.
They're homeschooled. Nobody here notices glamour.
They're my kids. I ... er ... well, I'm not the height of fashion. In fact, I'm not the height of anything, but that's another story. And anyway, good quality comes in small packages. That's what I was always told, and I'm sticking with it.
So, where was I?
Oh yes. Photos.
They spruced themselves up. Well, okay - they came out of jeans, chucked their sweaters, and took their hair out of a ponytail. The girls, that is. The boys.....oh, you know what I mean.
Here's my firstborn. My boy.
He hates smiling for photos.
I love this guy to bits.
Here is my second born.
I'm not going to comment on the individual kids, because I adore them all.
Love them in a way no words can describe.
But this one is turning into me. Yes, I know she has your sympathy.
Here's my third. She's blonde.
We have reams of 'Katie-isms' that either make us split our sides, or scratch our heads.
She has no idea how lovely she is. Inside and out.
And here is my baby.
I'd thank you all for refraining from pointing out that he is seven. He is still my baby.
My adorable, gorgeous, cute, talkative, easy-going baby.
My heart is about to give way.