Our summer has honestly been one of the best ones ever.
We’ve done spontaneous. We’ve done get-togethers of all kinds. We’ve done nothing. We’ve done everything.
And now I feel like we’re at the end of a really fun carnival ride, because the first day of school is so close, we can smell the erasers on the new pencils.
(And? Why would I compare a great summer to a “fun carnival ride?” Carnival rides make me show everyone what I ate for lunch. The carnival ride which is the most fun is the one where Mama gets to just sit right here on a dirty bench and close her eyes and not have to watch anyone spin, spin, spin, because it makes her head feel like it’s going to explode.)
We’ve been all about the picnic lunches this summer, too. There’s just something about taking your lunch to the park and fighting off the herd of wasps that try to attack you that creates golden memories. Yesterday was no exception.
The wasps were VERY thick.
We met Sister and the cousins for lunch. We picked up ribs from a deli, because Hubs and the boy love ribs, and because Hubs and the boy WANTED ribs. I had chicken. Boneless chicken. Because I have yet to meet a rib that didn’t have… you know… a bone smack in the middle of it.
The kids played. And played. And also played. And they ate Twinkies. I have never been a fan of the Twinkies… not even as a kid. I think they taste like fake cake with sticky Styrofoam pumped into the middle of them, and this is an extremely bold statement for me to make. It comes from a girl who thinks frozen pizzas taste fine, and if it’s a boxed lasagna that you pulled the top film off of and baked in your oven for an hour and a half, then it qualifies as homemade.
Cousins L, K and Little H were all there, ready to get their Twinkies eaten!
(For the record, that is equal to HATE IT. Bones. Snakes. Twinkies. Cottage cheese. Raw tomatoes. Hair clumps out of a sink drain. They all make me gag.)
Thing 2 and Little H played. Or rather, Thing 2 tried to grab a rattle most of the afternoon, and H kept taking it away from him. It was their very first time fighting over a toy.
Also? Thing 2 is THISCLOSE to sitting up, but he just hasn’t fully nailed it yet. And when he sees Little H doing it all alone, he gets a bit grumpy, because he longs for the freedom that sitting up and riding his own four-wheeler and pulling the rubber band back on his own slingshot will bring him.
(For the record, the boy was every bit as cute.)
(He still is.)
(The boy was dressed up for golfing. It’s what he does. He golfs. He would golf until the sprinklers came on at the course and soaked his Under Armour shirt, if his mama would let him stay out there that long.)
(Now. If we could just ignite the same kind of fire under him so that he’d learn to love ALL THE READING OF ALL THE BOOKS.)
(Because really? And honestly? How can a boy read at the gifted level, and NOT LOVE READING?! It makes me crazy, because oh! I adore a good book, and I want my sons to love reading, too!)
(And my mad golf skills are limited to YES, I CAN DRIVE THE GOLF CART AND NOT SPILL MY GLASS OF WINE. THANK YOU.)
I am going to miss the unstructured, lazy days of summer. I am going to miss spontaneous picnics in the park with the cousins. I am going to miss just having the boy at home when school starts back up next week.
Even if that boy DID inherit his daddy’s passion for using his teeth to rip smoked meat off of a bone.