Today I am 32 years old. At 6:45 am I ate the best almond croissant of my life, warm out of Sweet Somethings’ oven because Big didn’t want our birthday tradition to die just because the French patisserie closed. Mrs. Jamie went and learned the recipe from the baker so she could master French pastries, too.
But true to form, he topped himself. He built a cedar caddy for my fancy new almost-here bathtub and has started the new coffee table with hand-turned legs we’ve been wanting for years, that always has taken a backseat to our million other projects.