Galveston

On Wednesday, I spent the whole day packing and cleaning.  On Thursday, the four of us drove the three and a half hours to my parents' house in Frisco.  It was Independence day, so when we got out there, we had our obligatory bbq, and managed to catch some local fireworks. 

The next morning, we loaded up, and caravanned three cars the five hours from Frisco to Galveston, TX where we would be staying for a week in a beach house.  The drive was (mostly) uneventful.  BBH and Larger Child were in his car, Mom and Dad (and their dog Chloe) were in their car, and Smaller Child and I were in my car.  We all managed to get where we needed to go, and somehow stayed together through most of it... until Houston.  That is where we lost BBH.  Damn Houston.  For such a pretty city, your traffic is sure a pain in the tuckass.

Most of the drive in my car consisted of Smaller Child sleeping through me belting out whatever top 40 station I managed to get on my radio.  Although, there was stretch of road that only had religious talk radio or old time country.  While I don't mind me some Patsy Cline, I was grateful for Pandora.  However, around hour four, we were both incredibly restless and READY to be out of the car...

this is what I starred at most of the drive... the back end of my parents' car.

But, it didn't take long before we crossed the bridge, and landed on the small skinny island of Galveston.  It seems like the mood and temperature changes the moment you hit land... so do the sights.  I was particularly fond of this guy.  If I were a lady shrimp...

The house we rented was fantastic! Enough room for us all to have our own space without feeling like we were on top of one another, and one fantastic view. 

Once we unloaded, we almost immediately headed out to the deck to check out the sights.

Inspired by my surroundings, I took advantage of the leisure time to make a jellyfish.  This small project soon turned in to a week long task, the one jellyfish turning in to six to give to all the kids (and my mom).

Wait! How did the kids multiply?  I'll get to that...

 The first full day on the beach was spent mostly at the seashore.  We swam, splashed, played, body surfed, and introduced Smaller Child to the magnitude of the ocean.  He was a bit intimidated at first.  Afraid of the seaweed, he really didn't want to be in the water without one of us holding him.  He sure didn't mind stomping around the sand though.  Larger Child, comfortable in his (required) life jacket, enjoyed the surf and waves.  He splashed and giggled like he was a born beach bum. 

BBH and I turned in to giggling teenagers.  Once we knew the little ones were being watched after by GeeGee and Grandpa, we tore off for the deeper surf.  The ocean was very choppy, and there were quite a bit of waves.  We stayed close to one another, laughing, swimming, jumping, and PLAYING together.  I hadn't smiled that much, and laughed that long in ages.  It was wonderful and beautiful to play with my husband in that way.  Let loose, giggle and be free.  My cheeks and sides hurt by the time we hit the beach again.

Thoroughly wrecked by the day in the waves, we all went  back to the house, had dinner, and got ready for bed.  An hour or so after our little family was asleep, my brother, his wife, and their three kids arrived to share in the vacation with us!

Sunday morning, we had a late start.  We enjoyed a big breakfast all together, and spent some time just playing, visiting, and relaxing in the house.  Larger Child and his cousin, Lyra are about the same age, so the moment they get together they are practically inseparable... and I didn't see one without the other for most of the rest of the trip.  Jack, my brother's youngest just turned four, and he split his time between playing with big sis and Smaller Child... though it was clear he had a bit of the middle child syndrome.  A "Goldylocks" affect, where one group of kids was a bit too old, and the other a bit too young. But, he made do.  Greg, the oldest of the kids hung out mostly with the adults.  He was great company, and helped out a ton through the week.  It was really nice spending some time with them, getting to know them better, and letting them get to know me.  Though, I will admit, there were times having FIVE children in the house was overwhelming. (to say the least) But, for the most part, all of them got along well, and there were only a few blowouts that we had to referee.  I was impressed.

Jack and Smaller Child playing "Vroom Vrooms"

This is what eleven people in a beach house looks like.

Sunday afternoon, BBH and I took our kids out to explore the town.  We went to a few little souvenir shops, but the big plan was to take the kids to Rainforest Café for lunch.  If you've never been to a Rainforest Café,  and you have small children, you really should try it.  They are pretty neat experiences.  There are animatronic safari animals in the dining room, the whole place is decked out ceiling to floor to look like a rainforest, and every twenty minutes or so, the lights dim, thunder rolls in, and the rainforest comes alive.  This particular café also had a safari boat ride inside, which was a big hit for the kids.

By the time we got back that evening, it was close to dinner.  We helped cook and clean up, then it was time to celebrate a certain someone's SECOND BIRTHDAY! (You can read all about this in a later post... for now I am going to say it was quaint and perfect.)

That night, BBH and I snuck away for a sunset beach walk.  It was by far my most favorite part of the whole trip.  The sunset was breathtaking, the time spent holding hands, beach combing, reflecting, really talking with BBH was priceless.  It was one of those rare moments where you can really FEEL the presence of God, of love, and of life surrounding you.  Magical.

Monday we spent the day at Paradise Pier riding rides, playing carnival games, and having just the best darn time you can. It is a pier in Galveston that was totally wiped out by Hurricane Ike.  It has since been rebuilt into an amusement park offering several gut wrenching and thrilling rides. The day started off in the rain.  But, we decided not to let that stop us... we powered through, and within an hour or so, the rain cleared off, creating one gorgeous and memorable day!

I have to say, Larger Child really surprised me.  He was FEARLESS.  He rode every single ride there.  Some of them even I chose to sit out of.  It was awesome to watch him!

This was one of those rides I sat out on... a loop that loops and loops and loops... no thanks. But, the kids loved it!

This was called the texas high flier.  It was a normal carnival swing, but REALLY REALLY high... It was awesome! LC rode this one three times.

the roller coaster behind us here was called the Steel Shark.  IT was my favorite.  Check out that straight drop there.  Awesome.

Little Lyra rocking the "Pirate Striker!"



waiting for the ferris wheel

view from the ferris wheel

Monday night, we took the kids out "crabbing."  This is going out to the beach, after dark, with your flashlight to spot all the crabs coming out of their holes.  Somehow a game was made, scoring points for touching the crab butts... bigger the crab, bigger the point value. Good times.

Tuesday morning, BBH had to head back home, and get back to work.  I was sad.  I wasn't sure how I would feel about being there without him... flammy vacation turned in to family vacation... part of my heart went home. 

I spent the morning crocheting (and sulking a little) until the kids started swarming, wanting to get in to my yarn.  I took that opportunity to teach them some basic finger weaving.  It was super fun to watch them learn.  They all made bracelets, necklaces, and even used the scraps in some pretty imaginative ways!

That day the decision was for the guys to head to Houston to check out a battleship, and the ladies (with the addition of Smaller Child) to stay in town and do some shopping.  It was a fun and relaxing day, disregarding the momentary wrong way drive down a one way road.  They boys seemed to have fun as well, and I got to hear all about it when they got home.

Wednesday we went to Moody Gardens.  We checked out their awesome aquarium, elaborate and impressive rainforest greenhouse, met some dinosaurs, and played in their interactive science of music exhibit.  The kids all really seemed to enjoy themselves.  (I did too!)

We knew that Thursday would be our last full day, so we reserved the day to spend at the beach.  We loaded up the sunscreen, lawn chairs, and sand toys and spent the day at the water.  Larger Child and Lyra learned about how the ocean was just teeming with life.  They found crabs, small fish, shrimp, and teeny jellies that they captured and put in their own little tidepool.  Smaller Child became much more comfortable with the water and spent his time splashing, falling, laying, and kicking around. Mom and Dad seemed to enjoy spectating, though they both spent their fair share in the surf, even taking a turn on the boogie boards.  The rest of us all took shifts watching the littles, and going out in the deep surf playing in the waves.  It was a day of sun and fun.  We all came home wooped, covered in sand, and nursing sunburns.... with HUGE smiles on our faces.

That evening we packed, loaded, and began to get ready for an early departure the next day.

Friday, we gathered up what was left, and high-tailed it out.  We stopped off for breakfast on the way home.  The drive was uneventful, though Houston got the best of us again, and we lost another in the caravan.  By the time we got back to Mom and Dad's I was so tired, I barely made it to 8:00 before going to bed myself.  It was truly a memorable week.  A long vacation, full of loads of laughs, exhaustion, (and some frustration at times... but what do you expect with that many personalities in one place for that long?).  Some of the best memories were in the small moments. The little lapses of time between the big things.  Like taking silly pictures with the littles.

 Or watching LC wiggle his toes in the sand.  Running in to the waves, playing "Ready... ready.... GO!" with Smaller Child.  Teaching my niece how to crochet.  Watching my BBH cook breakfast for a horde. Watching him dive into waves taller than his head, laughing and grasping at my hands. Walking down the boardwalk with Mom.  Seeing her splash in the surf like a kid, and doting on her grandchildren like that was her one purpose on Earth, or hearing her squeal the first time she was brave enough to touch a crab.
 
 Or catching Smaller Child and Grandpa watching ships together

 

 

 

Or hearing Smaller Child say, from the backseat of the car as we drove out of town, "Bye Bye Beesh! Bye Bye Oseeen! Bye Bye Craaab!

 

 

The Mountains We Climb

Life has been crazy in the McQueen house over the past few weeks.  Between marathons, sickness, vacations, and the usual day to day of raising two small boys, there has been little time for blogging... But today, I want to spend a very expensive minute getting down my thoughts and feelings of a certain someone's recent trip to Colorado, and the whirlwind he left at home.

Three weekends ago, my Beautiful Bald Husband took part in a marathon in Leadville, Colorado.  He has been running for a few years now, and runs around 50 miles a week on average, so I really didn't think twice about his ability to run a marathon.  The course was a trail course, and by the sound of it, it would be difficult to impossible to schlep the kids around the course to watch.  I knew it would be a "wait at the start/finish line for a few hours" type of spectating, and I really didn't think the little ones would care much for that.  I also sort of felt the impression from BBH that he wanted to go it alone, a spiritual pilgrimage if you will.... so I decided to sit this one out.

He left early on a Friday morning, and drove the twelve hours to CO.  He wanted to get there early enough to let his body adjust slightly to the elevation difference.... wait, what? 
Yes, the Leadville is the highest elevation city in the nation.  The race starts out at over 10,000 feet above sea level, and at its highest point reaches over 13,000 feet.  The 26.2 miles consists of three mountain climbs with a 10-18%grade, all while traversing the gravel and dirt paths. All of this adds up to a run that is unlike anything this flat plains state resident is use to. 

Of course, I was not aware of most of this information at the time of my decision to stay home.  Okay, I was somewhat aware that he was going to be running in high elevation, that there was a bit of a climb, and that this was all new, but I didn't wrap my mind around how much different and how much more difficult this would be than anything he has done before.  Something tells me that he hadn't fully realized this either.  Something tells me that no one could really understand the impact of all of this until you do it yourself.

We talked on the phone the night before the race.  He sounded good.  He sounded happy.  I was missing him terribly, and missing the by proxy high I got off of him the night before races.  I wished desperately I was there, but I didn't say anything... until he did.  "I miss you guys.  I don't think I'm meant to be away from my family."  (I lost it.) What kind of man says things like that?  Have you ever known a man to be so open, honest, and ADORING to his wife and kids??  My husband, my BBH, he was sitting in his hotel, not thinking about the race, or his shoes, or his time, not counting his goos, or checking his equipment, he was sad and thinking of his wife and kids.  Wishing they were there.  THAT'S what a man is to me. That is why I love him so much... because he loves us just the same.

We got off the phone, reluctantly, expressing our love and longing for one another.  We talked about what to expect as far as how long he might be on the course.  He told me it would be longer than I was use to because of the difference in the course, told him I understood, not to worry about that stuff, and to just have fun and enjoy the sights.  Let God in, and RUN with Him.  I told him to check in with me in the morning before he leaves.  He agreed.

Saturday morning, I got a happy/nervous photo text of him getting ready to line up.  I wished him luck, told him how much I loved him and how proud of him I was.  That was the last I heard from him until after six that night. 

The course had check points that the time tag would register as the runners past.  I was able to follow him for most of the day, I could see he was making progress, that he was continuing to move.  I could also see the countless other runners who were quitting the race with a DNF registering.  Then the progress stopped... and so did my heart. 

I waited, for hours... watching, refreshing... texting his mom, who was doing the same.  We waited.  We waited. We prayed.  (I cried.)

I started Googling the race info, reading other's blogs who had completed it.  Then I began to get a better understanding of exactly what he was up against.  I read over and over again that this was the HARDEST marathon in the country.  The climb was so steep that it was literally physically impossible to run at some points. Not to mention the danger involved with the narrow passes next to cliffs, the uneven paths, and extreme weather differences.  Then factor in the lack of oxygen from being in such high altitudes. The elite runners couldn't even finish it in under 3 and a half hours.  The average finishing time, (that is averaging ALL participants... the best of the best, the ones who train in this terrain) is over six hours. I realized just how much of a monster this course was.  My fear level increased, and with it so did my prayers.

Then I noticed all the other runners who were around his same time were not registering either.  HOPE! Maybe it was a technical glitch.  MAYBE the Earth didn't swallow him up, or he DIDN'T get flung off a cliff, he didn't die from oxygen deprivation, or exposure.  Maybe it was a computer error.

A wash of relief came over me... and I calmed down.  A few moments later I got the text.

Kevin: I couldn't have run any better.  I haven't been so humbled by God's work since Jake and EB.

I fell to the floor and sobbed.  Big ugly cry.  Tears rolling down my cheeks cry.  Relief, pride, love, adoration. A flood of emotion. 

After he caught his breath (and I caught mine) he called.  He told me about the beauty of it all, how God was there reminding him to take care of himself.  How the other runners on the course would envelope each other if they saw one in distress to help them through.  About the old man who told him, "slow deliberate steps."  How he saw God. How he ran with Him, how his life was changed.  I cried again.  It was amazing to hear... heartbreaking not to witness.

It was then that we both agreed that I would not stay at home again.  We realized that those big moments in life, those giant life changing things that happen become so bittersweet when we don't experience them together.  There is something about our connection, our souls tied, that begs for union, that requires the others presence in the mountains we climb.  Whether they be figurative or literal.  We need one another to be there, at least on the sidelines to experience it with us. 

And that is where I intend to be.

"Oh Well" the Mantra of the Sick Mama

Having a cold, virus, sinus infection, respiratory infection, stomach bug is no fun. Ever.  For anyone.  It sucks.  It sucks real bad.  Many of us revert back to childhood behaviors. We start whining, grown ups all of a sudden loose the ability to care for ourselves, big burly men are found crying out for Mom.  So, what do you do when you ARE the mom? 

Being a sick stay at home mom is probably right up there on the sucky job list as sewer repair man or pig farm worker. With all the positives of this job, and there are many, there are some major downfalls as well.  You are always on the clock.  Always.  24/7.  You don't get sick days.  My sick days are essentially dialing back the cooking/cleaning/playing responsibilities to what's essential.  Meaning, despite fever, body aches, snotty nose, incessant coughing, I am still making three meals plus snacks, cleaning up after all of them, and assuring at the very least the safety of the children in my keep.  I do take my super mom cape off, hang it up, and replace it with the "I will do the bare minimum to get by" cape.  But, the bare minimum for a SAHM is still quite a bit.

I've had a lot of practice being a sick mommy.  With the medications I am on to treat rheumatoid arthritis, my immune system is severely weakened.  So, pretty much any little bug or virus that comes in our house attacks me with three times the strength and longevity that it did the carrier. This current five day respiratory infection complete with total laryngitis is the direct result of Smaller Child's two day snotty nose.  So, with all the practice I've had over the years, I am getting pretty good at disciplining with hand claps, snaps and stomps when I don't have a voice.  Couch entertainment when I cannot get up, quiet games when my head is pounding.

Of course Beautiful Bald Husband is an awesome help when he's home in the evenings.  He's more than willing to cook dinner, bathe the kiddos, and get them to bed.  It is so awesome to have that kind of support and partnership in parenting.  But the days are long, friends... the days are long.

It is all an act of letting go.  Letting go of the idea that the house will be picked up, the dishes will be done, the kids won't spend more than an hour watching tv. They may or may not get bathed that day. The laundry won't get done...  All those hard fast rules that I try so very hard to adhere to have to go out the window.  I have to allow myself some slack... and if you know me, you know that ain't easy!

But guess what, when there is a sink full of dishes the world doesn't end.  When the kids end up having to spend the majority of the day in their pj's watching television their brains don't actually turn to mush.  We survive.  All of us.  (Though there are moments that I dramatically call out wishes that this doesn't happen.)

So, as I curl back up on the couch, with my box of Kleenex about to watch another episode of Mickey Mouse Clubhouse, I say to you this... wait, what was I going to say again? Oh well.

(Not So Small)er Child

For nearly two years, the routine has been the same.  Bath, bottle, book, bed.  It is sweet connection.  A time to cuddle, to snuggle, to love.  It is followed by a gentle laying down in the crib, a tucking in, some tickles and kisses and expressions of love.  This has been the bedtime schedule for Smaller Child.  The type of bath, the type of milk, the type of book all may have changed some over the past two years, but the basics have been the same.  It was the same for Larger Child. 
Last night, it all changed.

Had I known that two nights ago might be my last time to put a BABY to bed, I may have done it differently.  I may have savored the moments longer, cuddled a bit more, chosen a longer book.  But, as it stands... I said goodbye to Baby EB without much ceremony.  Maybe it is better that way.  Now I won't have to worry that I somehow scarred him with weeping over a bottle! Regardless, when I went to bed last night realizing that I had put SC to bed without a bottle, and in a "big boy bed" and not a crib, I couldn't help but feel a lump in my throat.

We had decided earlier this week that we needed to convert the crib into a toddler bed soon. We had a vacation coming up, and thought it might be helpful to get him use to sleeping in a real bed so we didn't have to cram his behemoth body into a pack in play for a week.  (We have Viking children.) But, it kind of just happened on a whim yesterday.  Maybe sooner than I was really prepared for. He was thrilled to see he had a new toy to play on though! I was thrilled that he seemed to take to it so well. (That is until it was actually time for bed.)

When bedtime came around, I casually mentioned to BBH that we will also need to eventually consider cutting out the bedtime bottle.  He agreed, and we both sort of suggested that maybe tonight was the night.  First night in the big boy bed, might be a good distraction... he may not even realize we missed the bottle. We got him in his jammies, and took him to bed.  I laid him down, covered him up, and gave him a kiss goodnight.  Then I stopped.  I couldn't just LEAVE.  So, I grabbed a book, and sat down beside the bed to read to him.  He seemed okay with all of this, a little nervous, but okay.  Then it was lights out.... and tears.  I think he is not much different from most toddlers.  Big changes are scary, and need some nurturing, patience, and breaking in.  I laid on the floor next to him, stroking his head, letting him know it was okay.  He calmed down some.  Daddy came in, and took a shift too.  Within maybe twenty minutes, he was quiet and alone in the big boy bed, nodding off to dreamland.  There he spent the entire night, without a peep.  I heard him just before six this morning, and when I went to check on him, he was asleep on the floor.  Not positive of the details, but I picked him back up, put him back in bed, and he slept for another hour undisturbed.

When did my Little Bitty become not so little? (Though, I suppose technically he has never been too terribly little to begin with!) HOW on EARTH is time moving so fast?  This guy, who it seems just yesterday was a wriggling little foreign body in my uterus, is now nearly potty trained, feeding himself, sleeping in a big boy bed, walking, talking, self sufficient human! It is too fast. I feel like even though I am home with him every day, I'm somehow missing it. He's the last of the McQueen Vikings.  He is the last of the diapers, cribs, and bottles, and they are nearly gone as well.  Don't get me wrong, part of me is grateful and relieved to see the end of bottle washing and diaper changing, but part of me... part of me already misses the sweet baby smell, the chub wrinkle on his thigh, the gummy grin.  Our darling baby is now a little boy.  Full fledged toddler.

A True Father, a Real Dad

With the celebration of Father's Day, I have been thinking about the dads in my life. The ones I have met, the ones that I love, the ones that have raised me. What that word means, what that word means to me, what that word holds in the minds of others in this world.  With these thoughts comes a lot of gratitude. With these thoughts comes the stark realization of how lucky I have been to have the examples of "dad" of "father" that I have had in my life. 

My Daddy. 
He is probably one of the most impressive and incredible examples of paternal love and adoration that I have ever seen.  That is including all examples shown in movies, in literature, heck even in hallmark card commercials.  My Daddy is (in my humble opinion) the bees knees, and the very BEST Daddy on the planet.  I don't remember a single moment in my life that my Dad made me feel anything less than the very best/prettiest/smartest/most talented/funniest/most clever/cute girl on the planet.  When they say that a child is the "apple of a daddy's eye" I knew what that meant.  I could see that in my Daddy. He has made me feel that every.single.day.of.my.life.  There has never been a millisecond go by that I have ever questioned that he was there for me for WHATEVER I needed him for. 
When I was small, I remember so many times he would sit on the floor of my room and "eat" plastic food and drink from empty cups with me.  He wouldn't hesitate to pick up a baby doll, or dress a Barbie.  He took me on my first date to see the Icecapades.  He took me to my first movie.  He took me to my first dance.  He taught me how to drive, with the patience of a SAINT. (I remember spending HOURS in the parking lot of what is now the Yukon library. I would get so frustrated, and he would teach me patience.) He suffered through HOURS of choir performances, ballet recitals, and competitions. No matter how BAD the performances were, he would hug me, usually have a flower for me, and tell me (with BEAMING eyes) how amazing I was and how proud he is of me. He put up with my insanity when I LOST my mind around the age of  seventeen... hum... maybe more like sixteen. Fifteen? Poor Daddy. He taught me how to fish, pitch a tent, throw a ball.  He knew these were things that girls could do too.  He never put me in a "you can't do this because you're a girl" box.  If there was ever a man that encouraged a daughter to do or be anything she wanted to be, it was him.
Daddy never killed a boyfriend, though I am sure there were a couple he would have liked to. Though, now that I think about it, he never got too friendly with them either.  Hmm, interesting. (Hey, BBH, it only took you about ten years to be his pal! Way to go!) Ha! He knew when to give me tough love. (He still does.) He let me fall a few times, so I could learn to pick myself up.  But, I knew his hands weren't far a way if I couldn't quite make it. There were a few times that he didn't pull any punches, and let me know that my decisions disappointed him.  But, that's the thing.  He would always make sure I knew it was the decision.  He would never ever say that I was the disappointment.  I have never once felt that from him.
He showed me what a REAL man was like.  How a husband and father cares for his family.  Puts them first.  He showed me what true priorities are.  He worked his butt off for us for years. But when he got home, he always had the energy to show us that we were number one. 
That's my Daddy.  That is what a "father" is to me.

When a girl grows up with that kind of love, when a girl grows up being the center of a man's heart, it leaves pretty big shoes for a husband to fill. And when a lanky, scruffy twenty one year old fresh off the bus from Seattle came into my life, I am not sure I looked at him and thought, "THAT man would make the best father to my children."  I am pretty sure my thought was more like, "Who is THAT mysterious and delicious tall drink of interesting??" Thirteen years later, I see now that God saw much much more in that moment.  And I thank Him every day for that. 

My Husband, the father to my kids.

I wrote a blog once about the moment BBH became a father, how every fiber of his being seemed to change at that moment.  This is true.  It was a transformation like I have never seen before.  It was (and still is) amazing to watch.  It is devotion, in the purest truest sense of the word.  He is incredible with those boys. Completely self-less.  He is a partner in parenting. He is plugged in, engaged, interested, supportive, and completely completely smitten by both of them. 
BBH's desire to be a good dad runs so deep in him that he often twists himself up with doubt.  The thought that somehow he isn't doing enough, or the right thing, or too much creeps in to his head and it eats him up.  The only reason for this kind of self examination is a true desire to do right. Otherwise he wouldn't care. He knows how powerful the role of "Dad" is, and he doesn't take that job lightly. He is so empathetic and patient with them.  He adores each of them for their quarks, for the small things that makes them the little men that they are, and beyond that, he recognizes those small things and nurtures them in a way that only someone truly in tune with their children can. I so so so admire this, and strive to be more like him in this sense.
I couldn't even imagine a better partner in this craziness that is parenthood.  I couldn't dream up a better father for my boys.  He teaches them how to be men, how to be themselves, and how to do it all while loving God and family.  He teaches them this by doing it himself.  He teaches them how to be a good husband, how to be a good dad, how to be a respectable responsible productive member of society, he leads by an incredible strong and beautiful example.  And he does it all while making us roar with laughter on a daily basis. This man... this is what it means to be "Dad."

Happy Father's Day to the two most incredible examples of fatherhood this world has ever seen.  How on EARTH did I get so lucky to have you BOTH in my life? 

Backyard Adventures

Well, it's summer time, ya'll! That means I am a full time Mommy of two active, energetic, and very very LOUD boys. 99% of the time I wouldn't have it any other way... okay, wait, in the interest of full disclosure and complete honesty, I would change that to about a 75%, there is a good portion of almost every single day that I am counting down the minutes till bedtime, or looking at the calendar to see just how many more weeks until school starts again.  That's just me being real, yo! I love my boys, more than any thing else on the PLANET, but there are times.... there are times...

I have found one of the very best ways to increase that percentage is to spend a good portion of our day enjoying the good ol' outdoors.  We have a fabulous backyard, and are blessed enough to have been able to furnish it with a super fun trampoline, and a schnazzy swing set, but it seems to me that after they clock about five to ten minutes on the expensive equipment, they are ready to move on to something else.  It also seems to me that they find the most enjoyment out of the simple things, the things that have stood the test of time, the things that I played with as a child, and many generations before me as well.  Add to that the occasional visitor to our well populated back yard, and you've got the makings of a pretty great Huckleberry Finn type summer!

So far this month we had the pleasure to meet a backyard critter that probably wouldn't have made the parent's top ten list, but the boys sure enjoyed him.  Larger Child and I were in the yard making a bug habitat.  He had made a pretty great home, and we were just looking for the perfect bug.  That is when I noticed Smaller Child and Olivia playing with something in the grass.  SC kept laughing really hard, and Olivia would run off.  That's when I noticed something hanging out of her mouth.  It was a snake. Joy.

Luckily, it was a small ringneck... and it happened to survive the mauling.  Larger Child begged me to allow him to put it in the bug habitat, and being the sucker I am, agreed.  Thus our family pet, Craig, entered our world. 

 

He was a lot better than the other snake we found this month... this guy was in the street.  He was probably close to three feet long.  No amount of begging and puppy dog eyes would convince me to keep that monster.

I told LC that the one stipulation would be that he had to remain outside.  He agreed, and Craig lived on our patio table in the aquarium for about a week.  That was when I went out there one morning to find the tank empty, and Craig no where to be seen. I had to break the news to my broken hearted child, I assumed that a raccoon probably got in to the tank... but he said that maybe Craig escaped and had reunited with his family somewhere.  Yeah, lets go with that. 

Later that night, I was on the porch watching the storms roll in when Olivia had something under the picnic table.   Yeah, you guessed it.  Craig did escape, but he didn't make it far.  Poor guy.  LC still doesn't know about that part.

The next week on a walk down to the mailbox, I found this guy!

Learning from my previous lesson in reptilian pets, I told LC that we could NOT keep this guy.  He needed to stay in his home, and we would just find a safe place to put him.  After a good five or ten minutes of admiration and "awwwwwes" we let him go.

Now, not all the critters we find in and around our house are so cute...

I'm just saying... (shiver)

Now, back to the story at hand... despite (or perhaps because of) the creepy crawlies and the cold blooded friends, the boys do spend a good portion of their day outside.  Today, we decided to drag out the plastic kiddie pool and play.

If that's not "joy" I don't know what is.

throw in a silly sprinkler, just for kicks

and of course, it turns in to a gun

gaaah, they are just too handsome

A day of fun, sun, and splashin (and no snakes, or spiders. Though we did get bombed by a couple wasps.) Every day is an adventure in our backyard! Can't wait to see what tomorrow brings... then again, maybe I can.