I'm not an especially modest or shy person. But given a choice, I would prefer not to meet new people while dripping wet, in my bathing suit, with a child clinging to me in such a way as to make a flashing a dangerous and ever-present possibility. And yet, that is exactly how I introduced myself to half a dozen couples Sunday during a kid birthday party. They were parents of other kids at daycare, so I see them all the time at drop-off or pick-up, but we never have had a chance to chat. We didn't really have much of a chance at the party either because I was alone with the kids and hauling The Lad around the pool. I wouldn't have even registered the wet introductions as awkward (duh. pool party) -- except I was the only mom in a bathing suit. All the other women were dry and coiffed and wearing cute little shorts or sundresses. Thank goodness I like my suit.
Also on Sunday, we got bunkbeds. Poor Lad no longer is sleeping on a mattress on the floor, rolling under the bookshelf in the middle of the night. The boys think it's the best thing that has ever happened. All they want to do is be in the top bunk.
The Boy came bounding out of the bedroom this morning.
"The Lad rolled out of bed in the middle of the night. And he cried and cried and cried. But now it's OK! He's sleeping on the floor!"
And he was. Beastie was all curled up by the foot of the ladder with his trusty blanky, which apparently came with him as he pushed his way between the mesh fence you see in that picture and the bed.
PSA: Those fences are worthless. They just scootch in between the mattress and box spring and both of our boys have been able to scootch them out and rolle out of bed anyway in their sleep. Thank god this was a hand-me-down and we didn't spend money on this thing.
It is summer in Florida. It is hot, humid and buggy as hell. We have wicked thunderstorms and/or torrential downpours at least once a week, almost always at 5 p.m. when I have to pick up the boys. If I leave a load of laundry in our washer, which is in the uncooled garage, for longer than an hour, the clothes smell mildewy. Anything more than a tank top outside causes me to sweat like crazy, but that's inappropriate work attire and anyway, every building has the air-conditioning cranked so high a Snuggie would be comfortable. (Seriously, some people at my office keep blankets at their desks.)
The royal poincianas are blooming. That just about makes up for all of that.
Did you know dogs go through an adolescent, teenage-like stage? Where they seem to forget they need to listen to you, despite the fact that they were quite obedient just a few days ago? Where they get mouthy? Where they furtively look to see if you're watching and then do things they KNOW they're not supposed to do.
Well, they do.
Brucie is about 1 year old. She is mostly a good dog. She likes to play chase with the boys. She's licking the husband's head -- he's stretching on the floor -- as I type this. Peanut butter is her favorite food. She still jumps on us too much. She is a little freaked out about the July 4 fireworks that already are being shot off. She has scratched my dressers trying to play with the cat. She's lucky she's cute.