Summer Fun

Our best friends from Norfolk visited a week ago. If I could make them move to North Carolina, believe me, I would. We had such a great time. If you are interested in the details of our fun weekend, she's already taken care of that for me here. But I believe the picture above won't be found there, and I just love the image of these two being hatched.

I found Charlotte in the den playing the other day, fireman hat perched upon her head. How can you not run for the camera? She's even color-coordinated.

Not only is Charlotte a capable firefighter, but she also takes home safety very seriously. Protection goggles aren't just for Bob the Builder anymore. Consider getting some for your children too. Forks are sharp.

And last but not least, the picture with a real story. Those spots on Owen's nose are not blueberry juice or dirt or stray boogers. No, those are battle wounds. I knocked him down. The weather has been really manageable over the last couple of days and we decided to take advantage of it after dinner on Friday. We put the kids in the paddle boat and floated off. We talked to the neighbors who were out in their boat, watched some turtles, looked for fish. It was great. Until it was time to get out of the boat. Charlotte and I got out first. Since I was having to run after Miss Look at Me I Can Walk Now, I didn't grab the rope to tie the boat down. Will finally got the boat back to the dock, and Owen pulled his upper body out, but decided it would be a fun time to just hang out there for a bit. The boat started slowly floating away, and Will began firmly telling Owen to get out. He did not oblige. In my desire to keep two eyes on the baby, I decided that I would make quick work of the situation and grab Owen's legs, assuming he would sort of wheelbarrow himself fully onto the dock. But no. That's not what he did. He face-planted into the wood decking. I felt awful.

The next day, he asked me somewhat out of the blue if I ever make mistakes. My answer: "Of course I do, everyone makes mistakes." His reply: "You mean like yesterday, when you and daddy made me fall and hurt my face."

Independence

First, a pictorial update:

Will's new favorite activity
Charlotte's new favorite activity--she's about to stand (and is even walking a little now!)

Owen's new favorite activity

So many little stories...I keep thinking, "Must right them down." And then I get caught up in the grocery shopping, kitchen cleaning, butt wiping business. Better late than never.

We've been in our new house for a little over a month now, and that seems to have ushered in a new sense of independence for Owen. For about a year or so, Owen has been able to tell time. Not down to the minute, but the boy knows his hour hand. He had to learn because he wanted to get up far too early for my taste. I decided 7:00 am was reasonable, so that's the time I taught him, "Big hand at the top, little hand at the 7." For many months that meant that little feet slapping up the stairs of our old house were my morning alarm. Several months ago, he learned how to operate the tivo. He is allowed to watch two tv shows in the morning. That bought me another hour. Fantastic.

Upon moving here, however, he decided that he could do far more than turn on a few tv shows. He could make breakfast. A few weeks ago I came downstairs to the sight of a cherubic face covered in fruit juices. The half pint of blueberries...empty, container laid waste upon the floor of the den. A half dozen strawberries...gone. A dozen gigantic cherries...missing, save for the tell-tale pits lurking at the bottom of the cup that Owen had poised upon his protruding paunch. Virtually every piece of fruit in our refrigerator was consumed. That night I locked the fridge. The next morning I went downstairs, feeling smug. My son was not deterred. This time he examined the pantry for his breakfast options. And what did he find? A box of Cheezits and some raisins. Thankfully, he has not learned to operate the stove, otherwise he may have made himself a pan of brownies. We then started pulling the pantry tightly shut (it sticks, he can't open it). After a week or so we decided he had forgotten about his breakfast making skills, so we stopped locking away the food.

That was all well and good until a few days ago. The first thing I saw upon walking into the kitchen was THREE open containers of yogurt, lined up neatly at the edge of the counter. I peer down into them, realizing that they are all half empty...odd. I walk into the den and find Owen sitting on the couch with a cup full of yogurt and a very tiny straw. He looks up and says, "Look! I made Rainbow Yogurt!" I am surprised that he had not popped blood vessels in his eyes trying to suck yogurt through a tiny, swirly straw. I could do nothing but laugh and give him a spoon.

Unfortunately his free-wheeling days of independence will come to an end in a few weeks. Preschool will put an end to Mommy sleeping until 8:15. There's always Saturday.