FINALLY, after a week of freakishly hot weather, we were given a TRUE spring day. No more of this silly 90 degree summertime tease. Today was sunny, yet brisk - not too hot and not too cold. It was a good day to be outside.
So we invited Goldilocks over and decided to host a spontaneous family BBQ. Firstborn would like to point out that while she dutifully chopped fruits and veggies for the fire pit, I whined and held myself together with . . . okay, maybe I didn't hold myself together very well at all. The problem is that my closest family member is no longer here for these family get-togethers. So I avoided the real issue of just how in the world I'm going to survive future holidays and family gatherings without my best friend from birth by finding completely inconsequential issues to fall apart over - such as the apparent complete lack of batteries in the entire house suitable for my camera. Meanwhile, the rest of the family sat me in the corner, patiently patted my head, and jumped right in with the preparations for grilled goodness. Firstborn even managed to scrounge up some power for my clicker along the way.
My family rawks.
I'm not sure if it was the tangy scent of woodsmoke - or perhaps the sizzling grilled pineapple - maybe the bubbles and the dancing and the shrieks of boys' exuberance . . . but somewhere along the way, I forgot to mope and whine.
And remembered to laugh.
Notes to self:
- Only the truest of love is shown when a vegetarian cooks up a steaming stick of MEAT for the carnivorous males in her family.
- No matter how hard you try to talk a brand new 3yo into wearing shoes . . . it just isn't going to happen if he's got a mind against it. He's tasted warm, barefoot weather so those vile, restrictive shoes are a thing of the past. It doesn't matter how bright red and frozen his piggies turn in the brisk, bipolar weather of the east. It doesn't matter how adorable everybody finds his brand new way-too-easily removed Crocs. It doesn't matter that starving children in India would do ANYthing for such foot coverings (tell me I didn't just say that . . . even in my mind) he will NOT wear the danged shoes. Don't even fight the fight anymore. Let it go.
Maybe even join him!
(My true friends, BTW, will not pay attention to the horrendously filthy floor.
I blame . . . dragons.)