At the end of summer, we went to a lovely wedding in Boston. The ceremony was held in a beautiful courtyard garden. The evening was the perfect not-too-hot warm, and a light breeze lilted through the leaves and updos and the bride's elegant veil.
The guests were given bottles of bubbles to blow at the happy couple during the recessional.
This made my kids very happy.
The girls knew just what to do. The boy...
well, he'd seen it done before...
But that's not it, sweetie.
Ptui! There is perhaps nothing funnier than a toddler trying to spit.
(Assuming you and your silk dress are at a safe distance, of course.)
Dip, baby, dip.
Shortly thereafter, he licked his lips, dropped the bottle and the wand to the ground, and tugged at his sisters' clothes so that they would blow bubbles for him. He's a smart little dude, bubble-tasting notwithstanding.
Plus, although we would never encourage this, exactly, he could totally get by on his looks, don't you think?