The road to h-e-double hockey sticks.
You know that saying about the road to hell being paved with good intentions? Well. I’d better get that handbasket that I’m riding in all spruced up.
I’m ready to stop flying by the seat of my pants with the new school schedule and get the hang of this already. I’ll share, though, what a humongous dork I am.
Made myself a cleaning schedule. Yep. It’s a calendar group all its own on my Mac. I figured if I didn’t, I would wait on the gross stuff until I couldn’t stand it anymore and then do this coming-out-of-the-corners-swinging thing that happens that scares everyone, me included. So most mornings, or at least on Mondays, well almost every Monday, I’ve crawled out of bed, brushed my teeth and washed the sleep from eyes, stumbled over to my desk and started checking stuff off the list. Like I said. At least on Mondays.
This past Monday, I did not check anything off of the list. Instead, the small fry and I had a long overdue playdate with some friends.
Remember this post? It’s been a little more than a year since she was born. Here she is now, beautiful little thing, staring me down and guarding her snack of baby carrots with everything within her.
Omaword. So cute.
The rest of the lot were freely spiriting around the park.
A good friend asked about our youngest yesterday: “He’s a spitfire, isn’t he?”
Yes. Yes he is. And she’d know one when she saw one; she has one too. I like company in that arena.
There’s a pretty awesome little boathouse and dock by the park. My friend, Kim Jones of Kim Jones Photography, took some fun family pictures of us here last year and I think I’d like to take the boys back for some more one of these evenings. What a fun spot.
He was hunting fish.
On our walk back to the play area, we noticed some sweet little trails meandering here and there and back down to the water’s edge. The water’s up (yay!), and you couldn’t quite tell where trees ended and water began.
So Mondays, I think I’ve added something to my list on your day. At least while the air is heavy with heat still and no one gets in trouble for “falling in the water”.
And I think I’ll let my little spitfire pitch that “handbasket” in the trash for me.