Perspective

We live in a quiet little town with our two children, one dog and 1.75 jobs. We lead a fairly simple life. With that said, I’m not sure why I can’t find time to document our existence here. We’re no busier than the average family. I think I just manage my time poorly because I somehow feel like I meet myself coming and going. Someday I’ll get better at this. In the meantime, I’ve made this my screensaver at work. It reminds me that at the end of each day my kids look peaceful and relatively happy.

This was taken on our summer vacation to Dallas. The boys shared a bed and, quite frankly, it didn’t go that well. At some point during each night we were in our hotel room I was awakened by them YELLING at one another about who had more blankets and who was hogging mattress space. Yet, early one morning, mere hours after a 3 a.m. tussle that could have woken the neighbors, we found this.

It makes me happy.

Our own little Webster

It's hot here. I understand, according to Al Roker and that crazy Cantore fellow, that it's pretty much hot everywhere and I'm really not complaining. I'll take really hot over really cold any day. You know it's been really hot for a really long time, though, when a five-year-old can accurately inform you about how many days it's been since his preschool class has been allowed to play outside in the afternoon.

Thomas' teacher, the fabulous Miss Lori, has made a game of checking the weather with her students. They recite the phone number to the local Time & Temp phone line out loud as she dials and they all listen very quietly for the magic number. In the winter, it's 32. In the summer, it's 95.  Except for now.  Now it's so hot that they have to wait for the verdict on the "feels like" temperature. 

While discussing weather-appropriate attire for an adventure we're having tomorrow, Thomas reminded me that if it's 99 degrees, it might feel more like 105 degrees.  Then he told me, in his Thomas way with his eyes open wide and his head cocked slightly to one side and leaned back just a bit, that "the real weather word for that is the HEATDEX." 

And that, my friends, is my new favorite made up word.

You say it's your birthday

In lieu of a full birthday recap, for now, I'm going to let some pictures tell the story of a really fun backyard birthday celebration for a certain eight-year-old I know and love. We invited his friends for a Friday night sprinkler and pizza party. I filled 125 water balloons (which, lesson learned, took 1 hour to fill and 30 seconds to pop) and we set up some other games.  Mark was sure that 2.5 hours was going to be way too long but they didn't seem to be short on ways to entertain themselves. And us.

The water showdown is about to begin. This is a mad race for the Super Soakers. Note that Thomas is in the Ready Stance even though he's been told not to use a Super Soaker and to save the water balloons for our guests.

Sprinkler's on, and they're not afraid.

My sister passed along this great idea to spray paint a twister board in the yard. It took 10 minutes to execute and it was great fun. It's also still in the yard, since it hasn't rained since then and our yard has apparently quit growing. It may well still be there come September so if you like Twister, come on over.

 

The badminton net was a hit. It's also a miracle it could still be used since it was acquired by my parents long about the time of my eighth birthday.

Thomas struggled to share his brother with the big boys. And by struggle I mean he cried all the way through his dinner and was yucky to his cousin in his insistence that he DIDN'T want to eat dinner with him.  We were so proud.

The Birthday Boy.

We had a family dinner on Saturday, his actual birthday. This is Thomas and Natalie waiting for Andrew to open his gifts in the most patient way they can muster.



A rare family photo.

Happy Birthday to our favorite eight-year-old!

What if

Once again it appears that three weeks have passed. I hate that. I hate that it happens without my really being aware of it and that I have little to show for it. What if I was either busy discovering a cure for cancer OR immersed in the every minute of the days of my little people? Would that missing three weeks still bother me as much as it does?

+++++++++

Inquisitive is a nice euphemism for Andrew's incessant curiosity. Like many kids, he asks an astounding number of questions each day. Lately, though, he's started posing more rhetorical questions. These are not fabricated, nor are they even embellished. These are actual What if questions he's lobbed out into the air in recent weeks...

"What if I ate four thousand marshmallows and then drank four gallons of Coke? Do you think I would explode?"

"What if the United States just killed Moammar Gadhafi instead of trying to talk him into being nicer?"

"What if I purposely did a belly flop off the high dive? If I did it on purpose would it still hurt?"

"What if people pooped from their mouths and talked out of their bottoms?"

+++++++++

We're getting lots of practice at the "not reacting" part of this parenting business.

Back at ya

Andrew has to take a sack lunch to summer camp each day. His preferred sandwich rotation is, to my mind, a little boring. In an effort to spice up the offerings and also expand his horizons I try to slip in small things that I know aren't his very favorite but hopefully he'll at least try. Last week it was blueberries, yesterday it was red peppers, today radishes.  I'm guessing a lot of the surprises go in the trash but he doesn't mention them and I don't ask.

On Monday I slipped in a little note instead of an obscure vegetable. It just said, "I hope you have fun at the movie. I love you, Mom."

When I opened his lunchbox that evening to get it ready for the next day I found that he had surprised me right back.  This was inside:

I think I'll keep him.