party like you mean it

Rhody weekend. Is it worth it? Very exhausting. I’m typing this after today’s events, which include a 7 1/2 mile run for Ralph and about a third of that for my dad, Sophie, and I. This was followed by a fall-down nose-scrape for Nels (my parents are 3 for 3 in injuries / traumas to The Boy when I have left him in their care – but this is the subject of another post), a giant Mexican meal at La Isla in town, goodbyes to the ‘rents, and finally, naps for the kids and housecleaning for Ralph and I. Now we have about an hour before my friends’ two children arrive to suffer under our care for three hours while their parents get a date.

A recap of Thursday’s pet parade:

She is not fucking around. As it turned out, we were second in the whole parade, humiliatingly sorted to the “Most Unusual” pet category (dumb because there is exactly nothing unusual about a spider, no matter how large and / or gross).

Just in case the audience couldn’t see inside the steamy, sweaty jar where the poor spider crouched in terror, Sophie carried this sign. We did a catch and release after the parade was over, and now he / she lives uptown. Both my kids said, “Bye!” and even stroked the spiders silky body and legs in farewell. Ew.

My family in a kiddie ride. I love the look of the poor saps on the other side of the “jail”, yearning for a trip to Vomittown, USA. Nels loved the ride and indeed this was the only one he experienced; Ralph and I weren’t willing to sit with him on any others.

Sophie sliding down the huge, speedy, motherf*cking slide thing I am too scared to go on myself. I always have a nightmarish fear I’ll some how fly off the slide and into outer space in some way. Low-grade agoraphobia I guess. This picture doesn’t give credit to how fast she was going or how high she started. My little girl!

Saturday night after a labor-intensive day including feeding company, the Rhody parade, lunch, naps, and potluck dinner, I am finally in the bathroom with my kids. I’ve given them baths and their hair and skin are shiny and clean. I brush Sophie’s teeth, then Nels follows suit. Both kids are delighted to open their mouths W-I-D-E and let me work on their tiny, perfect little pearly teeth. Nels, being a boy, or maybe just gross – or both – is a master at spitting. I can tell not a single speck of toothpaste is swallowed as he leans over the sink and expectorates with lip-flapping gusto. Our bedtime routine feels right and is just as calming to me as it is to them. To sleep. To another day of playtime tomorrow.

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