Neither Derek nor I want to fuss with even as much as a tiny wading pool, and for me, turning on the hose for a sprinkler is like watching our progeny run and splash through sprays of money.
I fill a big bucket of water, hand them each a cheap water gun, and walk away. One bucket buys me nearly an hour of time, as they know that once that bucket is empty, water time is over. This usually works out perfectly, as the last ten minutes of that time generally devolves into tears as they exhaust themselves and will no longer tolerate things like errant sprays to the fact or one of their siblings looking at them.
For awhile, though, all is well.
More or less well, that is: There are many, many wonderful things that come with living in Iowa, but the insane number of mosquitoes we're plagued with each summer is not one of them.
Caedmon in particular pays a heavy price for daring to play out of doors in the Rightful Realm of the Mosquito.
Our four-year-old's extra sensitivity to bug bites hasn't swayed him, however, from jumping on his newly ready big bike any chance he gets.
Maybe five minutes after Derek had the training wheels properly adjusted Cade left his tricycle in the dust. He's been waiting on a bike for some time now; there's something about being the youngest child that makes you just a bit more sensitive to being left behind or seen as babyish in any way, and according to Caedmon, nothing says, "baby" like a trike. I'm also not allowed to use terms like "cute," and definitely not "adorable;" I instead have to save it for here:
LOOK AT MY BABY! ISN'T HE ADORABLE?