**Another unfinished/unpublished draft post I’ve re-worked.
Curly sits in the back of the car crying. She’s devastated. I’ve decided not to be ‘Anna’, and for now, on this short shopping trip to IGA, I want to call Curly by her real name, not ‘Elsa’. And I’m sure when Immy is old enough to understand, she’ll also object to being called ‘Olaf’.
Twenty minutes later as we pull back up to the house and walk inside, out comes the ‘swishy’ dress and cape, and Curly is once again yelling at the top of her lungs…”let the storm rage ONNNN!”.
Fast forward one year later… Continue reading