When he went on a run, Phillip made an amazing discovery only a few minutes away from our house: a skate park!
What this means for us is: no more driving half an hour to the roller rink while the other stays home with the baby and forking over $30 to get us all in the door. We just drive down the street to the skate park, and have gone there 4 times this week.
|Looking especially pro, probably ready to do some jumps.|
It's usually empty, but the first time we went there were two teenage skateboarders there. I wonder what they thought when 5 kids piled out of our minivan and descended on the park?
(Whoever their mothers are, I would like them to know that the boys were very courteous, and one even fell off his skateboard on purpose to avoid hitting my 3-year-old when she darted in front of him at the last minute.)
A friend invited us to the pool at her apartment complex, and I jumped at the chance. We're lake folks (which are called ponds, if you live in New England) so we rarely swim at the pool.
The kids had a ton of fun, but I realized (and will need to remember for future reference) that bringing 2 kids who can neither swim nor reach the bottom of the pool is not a recipe for a relaxing time.
Trying to keep a wet, wiggly 1-year-old from slipping out of my arms while the preschooler kept demanding, "Help me swim, Mom! No, in the deep end of the pool! No, with both hands!" was a little stressful.
I love my new haircut. It was at least a year overdue, and I'm not exaggerating this time, swearsies.
|I could use a headband that wasn't stolen from my 3rd-grader, though. You know, like one for grownups.|
I had something like 8" cut off, but not enough to donate because the last 2" of it was a tangled, ragged mess of sadness because my last haircut was probably in 2013.
Another discovery around here was that we have wild spinach growing on our corner. I can't take credit for knowing that; just about the only plant I can identify is poison ivy, and you don't want to know how I know that. We were told by our neighbor, who is from Norway (in Scandinavia they seem a lot more in touch with like, nature and where food comes from.)
So after Googling about 300 times to make sure that eating it would not in fact kill us, we sent the kids out to gather some for a salad. And they gathered A TON.
People say "Get your kids invested in the grocery shopping and the cooking, and they'll be more inclined to eat new foods" which has never, ever worked in our house. The kids have no compunction about helping me make a batch of whole wheat shredded carrot muffins and then telling me that they taste disgusting.
But for whatever reason, something about the act of manually picking the spinach did it! We put some of it in our sandwiches for lunch the next day and when the 3-year-old removed hers, there was wailing and gnashing of teeth from the older kids. My 9-year-old took the discarded leaves and put them in her own sandwich, and my 7-year-old was banging his fist on the table to emphasize every word as he admonished: "Don't. Waste. The Spinach."
|Reasonably sure this is not poisonous.|
My 3-year-old makes her toys talk to each other all the time, and it's quite eye-opening to listen to her created dialogue. I didn't know what to make of this conversation between her stuffed animals:
Pink Bear: "Hi! This is my dad. Where's your mom?"
Blue Unicorn: "She's dead already."
Pink Bear: "Awww!"
Since our house can be such a pigsty sometimes, I sure am glad that someone else around here also has perfectionistic tendencies hiding beneath the surface. I opened up the silverware drawer and found this the other day:
|So beautiful... there are no words...|
And then when I went to make dinner I saw that the same person had been at work on the measuring cups.
|Be still, my perfectionist heart.|
I almost don't want to know who the mystery child is. Knowing would spoil it.
Wish us luck as we run a road race tomorrow! And when I say "we," I mean "the family" because I don't do that. I'm just the designated driver. Phillip and two of the kids are running.
We started training this week, originally intending for 3 of the kids to run — but we knew it just wasn't meant to be when one of them spent most of the warm-up face down on the grass wearing one shoe and complaining bitterly.
Which is exactly what I'd have been doing if they made me participate. Maybe next time.