Remember Flat Adelaide, that school project our daughter did last school year, where she sent a flat version of herself down to my family in Kansas? I never ended up telling you how that turned out, because I am a horrible blogger sometimes, but the above is one of my favorite images, sent from my aunt Sherry, who clearly appreciated the humor to be found in an overly amorous cow welcoming Flat Adelaide to their farm.
How about this picture that I remember taking on a run in a park twenty miles north of here? I saw a bright swath of green through the trees alongside the trail, and I had to stare at it for several seconds before I realized it wasn't grass.
That is a body of water. One I would never want to swim in, although it is possible you could walk across that thick layer of scum and make your friends call you Jesus.
This was from our last trip south, where my sister and her husband got our boys Nerf guns for their birthdays, and the adult men proceeded to play with them more than the children. Here they are preparing for a good, old-fashioned duel, minus the holsters and Colts. Real men use Nerf Zombie Strikes.
This one's from that same trip, where Adelaide and I discovered our new favorite piece of playground equipment: A saucer that tilts and spins and whips you around if you can get someone strong and fast enough to get some momentum going. Atticus was up to the challenge, spinning us until Adelaide began to experience dizziness and nausea, which I think is the object of any good spinning toy. I do so love to spin.
Another one from that trip:
Derek loves Ed, and Ed loves Derek, and I love reminding anyone who will listen that Ed is a cat so hardy that he survived being run over by my mom. In a car. The back of her property line butts up against he back of a vet's property line, so I remember her hollering for Kelli and I to fill a laundry basket with old towels from the linen closet (because even after running him over, she wasn't going to let us use the regular towels for him, a fact I now find hilarious), then we had to run poor, squished Ed across the long backyard to the vet's office. When I think about how boisterous we were with our baby sister Steph in that same laundry basket while whipping her around the house, I feel bad for Ed, because that had to have been one heck of a rough ride. My childhood was a series of one dead cat after another, with only two, Ed and his predecessor Pete, being sturdy enough to survive our household and the lure of the suicide highway that ran, temptingly, right in front of the vet's office.
I just took this one yesterday.
I'm a little worried about our neighbors; the two snowmen I found constructed near our house over the weekend were this semi-creepy one lurking right around the corner, and a full-on creepy one with apples for eyes and a gaping hole for a mouth two streets over. I'm telling you, winter does strange things to people.
And I'll leave you with this one.
If Caedmon is home and Derek is home, this is a likely scene to stumble upon when coming around any corner, as I did here a couple Sundays ago. Caedmon will tolerate a hug from most people, but from Derek, the man whose dirty laundry our youngest used to make nests out of to curl up in when his father had the temerity to be gone at work all day, well, Caedmon will cling to him as long as possible.