Rugby, and then it was Sunday

The husband has gone and left us on this gorgeous sunny Sunday, to go to yet another tennis tournament in Apeldoorn.
He'll only be back tonight.

Now it's eleven in the morning, and My Three Sons and I are all still in our pajamas and we're planning to stay like this for the better part of the day.

Son#1 had his first rugby tournament yesterday, and they won 3 of the 4 games.
Strangely, for someone who hates organized sports, I turned into a maniacal cheerer on the sidelines.  
Who would have thought?

The 3 buggers and I will be baking cupcakes to honour Sinterklaas today.
And if I hear ONE more Sinterklaas-song, my head may just start spinning like the Exorcist's.
Son#1 has finally started doubting whether Sinterklaas exists or not, but I'm hoping to stall him until after 5 December, when the kids get presents from Sinterklaas and his cohorts (the Black Peters).
Then we'll sit down with him and have it out.

One of my father's cousins died in a car accident this week.
He was only 50.

Last night the husband and I filled the boys' shoes with small gifts (another Sinterklaas tradition:  leaving your shoe out with something for Sinterklaas in it, then 'Sinterklaas' leaves a small gift - except that Son#2 found the carrots in the dustbin, that they'd left in their shoes last night and I had to lie my way out of it).
It struck me that this would be the last time:  By next year, Son#1 will no longer believe in Sinterklaas.
Life goes by so fast.  
What we believe and hold onto disappears in a flash.
Precious, precious stuff.

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