I went to visit my godchildren on Easter. They were so sugared up that they had little cartoon spirals actually twirling around in their eyes. Drunk on Peeps, hopped up on Hershey’s Kisses, and strung out on jellybeans.
It was fabulous.
They look like the little Raphael cherubs:
except that they are blonde, and even cuter. A few chocolate carrots in, and they look like this:
One is four and can not get enough of Spiderman and Matchbox cars. The other is almost two and likes to carry piles of blankets around the house when it is cold. She trips on them, but it is fine because a) she is pretty close to the floor, and b) the pile of blankets is so big that she can fall on them and still be mostly upright.
I have another adorable godson. He is nine months old. He is the smiliest, giggliest little thing you ever did see.
His parents see the twinkle in his eye, bless their hearts. At the baptism, they leaned in and said, “You may be called upon to bail this one out, at some point.”
If there is anything more entertaining than godchildren, I’m not sure what it is.