Nine. The last of the single digits. Amongst all the dorkiness that comes with being a nine year old boy (ie: wiping dirty hands directly on anything other than a napkin and taking up more physical space than a herd of elephants) I love finding him in his quiet moments. Fittingly we ushered in nine in the quietness of a quaint French village. His big birthday present had been going to a football game in Spain. So the birth day we spent going to a nearby town (with the visiting grandparents) to poke around and get a birthday cake. It was pouring rain so the poking around was made difficult.
But cheered by croissant.
Followed by lunch at a "typical" French pizzeria. What can we do? We let him choose and he unfortunately wasn't into the plat du jour at every other restaurant. After all the food we couldn't put our motion-sickness son back into the car without a rest, so he asked to get a haircut!
Coiffure Patrick was open et voila a new look is born. The new look for nine.
We love the shades in the pizzera ... so shiny and 80s!! He looks proud of whatever is in the glass...no wonder those kids are so happy! Ben wants to know what jersey E is sporting! Love Mandorlas
ReplyDeleteYes, he got money from Papa for sunglasses and these are the ones he bought! The jersey is Spain's national jersey (I think).
DeleteHi from right beside you
ReplyDeleteWow, he looks way older than nine! Love the haircut. And the wineglass...
ReplyDeleteHe is quite big for his age and he was offered wine at a French vineyard, but we opted for fanta in a wineglass for the bday!
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