Trying to not hate summer

A few weeks ago it started.  Though, it was pretty sneaky this year.  Summer snuck in and out for a couple of weeks, which, I guess, was kind of the polite thing for it to do.  (That is, of course, the normal way spring gives way to summer...everywhere above this general latitude.) 

I was so ready with a millions gripes each morning, but they were swept away by a cool morning breeze while we ate our breakfast with the kitchen/screened porch door open (so nice, and so unusual that time of year).

The dreaded, heavy, and stiffling hot air of summer is finally here even during our breakfasts now.  But, somehow, that few weeks of morning reprieves have softened my resolve to hate everything about this infamously Texan season. 

Well, that...and the pool.
I have to say that I am excited about going to the pool this year.  Normally, anything that had to do with me and a bathing suite was so uncomfortable to me.  I'm not sure if I'm becoming less modest, less embarrassed, or more demented.

My swim suite this year is one of those 'granny' types with a skirt on the bottom but a cute, youthful tank on top.  I must admit, I've never been more comfortable in a suite.  Well....they put 18 year olds in them in those department store catalogs, so I thought 'why not?'.
Connor was so ready. Even in April, he would just blurt out of nowhere, "Mommy, why is summer taking so long? I want to go to the pool today!"

A lesson in patience, or the lack of it, is certainly not lost, even on a 3 year old.

There are only so many times we can water the plants or wash the cars to satisfy this child's craving to splash and swim.

And, we love...love...love the pool at Baylor. It's indoors, so no worries about sunburns on my, very obviously, paler-than-life boys.

In this picture, Connor's lips even look blue. We'd been in the pool for about an hour and I think he'd gotten a little chilly. Don't worry, he quickly pinked up and stopped chattering.

 

We employed a very fun but very obnoxious floating donkey some of our time in the water for Aidan.  Mostly he just wanted out to be held in the water so he could splash; but, when he was in it, one of us was free to pull him and do a few "laps".  By "lap" I mean something resembling a back-stroke while pulling a giant blue donkey shaped floating seat that accomodated a giggling 11 month old, while making googly faces at said 11 month old.  Also, not to embarrass myself further, but it really must be said:  the 'lap' was performed going with the current of a lazy river.  There. 

And, I can't wait to go back tomorrow and do it all over again.

All Quiet on this Western Front

As of 9am yesterday morning, this house has become so quiet.  Connor and Richard left for Memphis bound for Aunt Marjorie's and Uncle Herb's and Cousin Vincent's house.  Richard has a conference in Nova Scotia and Connor will spend several days with Vincent while he's gone. 

It's amazing how removing one child from the house can so completely change it's dynamic.  As you can see below, Connor's voice dominates our world on a daily basis.

Since they've been gone:  for two days now, Aidan has taken two hour naps twice a day and still gone to sleep at bedtime without problems; I've discovered that Aidan can say (among other things) "da da", "na na", "ba ba", "ya ya", and "a-da"; we DO have birds that sing in our backyard; and, that our refrigerator has an automatic drippy something or other thing that happens every other day that I'd never noticed before and thought was it breaking down but actually is something that it's been doing since we got it to prevent over freezing and I'd never been able to hear it before.

(Richard would be so disappointed in all those run-on sentences.)

Auditory liberation has had a great price, though.  It was so hard to say good-bye to my bright, sweet, and yes, my very loud boy yesterday.  I cried off and on all morning.  Even when I was offering Aidan some of my cheese toast, I burst into tears while telling Aidan,"This is Connor's favorite." 

Of course, Aidan, just stared at me like "this is really fascinating....so, the big people cry too?!"  Then he just broke out in this devilish grin and kicked his legs back and forth.  I imagined that he was thinking that, finally, he'd get to ride Connor's scooter.

So, we did.

No, No, No

Our little stinker poo Aidan is starting to prove to be as strong-willed as his name (from the gaelic meaning "fiery") and his hair color (I know from experience...hee hee).

One of his favorite things is to climb up next to our tall windows and run his fingers across the blinds like a little xylophone and then bang them like a drum....and then, of course, find somehow to put them in his mouth.

I decided to, rather that just moving him to a different spot (which inevitable leads to him just crawling right back), I tried a different tactic.  Every time his little, droolie hands touched the blinds, I grabbed that arm and pulled it away and said,"NO". 

He was not impressed.

I could just hear those brain waves whirling around.....must.touch.blinds.....

After about three or four times of this the verbal protests started and the angry monkey shrieks emerged.  AAAACH  AAAACH.
(Stop doing that Mama!!!)

Then, he changed his strategy. 

Test....Test....Test...

Those little fingers waved right up to the blinds without touching them and then moved away.  Then up to the blinds again.  

Do you see me?

I saw those impish eyes dart toward me, checking for clearance.  I think I detected a little bit of a flirty grin forming when he saw that I was watching him. 

I'm gonna do it...I'm gonna touch it....You can't stop me....Nah Nah Nee Boo Boo....

"No, No, No little Aidan!"

It took about 28 times pulling his hand away before he decided that the ottoman to the chair was more exciting than the blinds. 

So far, the score is Aidan 989, Mommy 1.

Drunk with power, I left the room to get a celebratory diet Sunkist (my treat these days) only to walk back into the room less than a minute later to find the cutest little sinner in the whole world with the blinds in his mouth.