qI break my cardinal guideline of drinking before 5 and have a beer. Let's not start judging, it's one beer, I'm here by myself with three kids, and well... some might say I am on vacation... though we all know that I am on a trip.
The yard was fenced in when Nephew was born, probably the greatest thing that happened to the beach house since the internet and the washer/dryer. Laugh all you want, but I know what it is like to live without cable, central a/c, and having to walk to a pay phone before cell phones. We had an ice box here for the longest time. No kidding.
The girls run in circles, fight, forget what they were fighting about, play, have races, and in general- get the willies out. Fuzzy goes between chasing them before finding a ball and getting distracted. I sip my beer and write a blog, play on the internet, or think about my next move as a parent in this day. What will we fix for supper? Will we go to the beach this evening? Golf cart ride? Those sorts of questions are what I ponder while they continue to play on boogie boards in the grass.
The music is both the music I remember my parents listening to when I was their age (Allman Brothers, Al Green, Bob Marley, Marshall Tucker, etc) and the music from when I was a young (Dave Matthews, Robert Earl Keen, Counting Crows, and Outkast for good measure).
By 4 o'clock, regardless of what we have done, they are tired. Exhausted, really. For instance, today we slept in late and only spent about 2 hours at the pool, pale to the all day fiascos we are used to. After showers (which answered the question if we will go to the beach tonight. NO-- showers are few and far between here), we are outside for our 4 o'clock rendezvous with the yard. And I can tell that they are tired. Fuzzy will walk until he can't walk anymore, lie down- face first in the grass and stay that way for about two minutes until he has the energy to get up and walk some more. Birdie wants to drink about 17 juice boxes, which is her "tell" when she is tired-- she's thirsty. And Bennie, bless that sweet middle child. She is your typical three year old when she is tired-- bipolar.
It's 5:10 and I have ordered Birdie's school supplies for the coming year and her summer camp trunk. Fuzzy is starting to cry about a boogie board he is not being allowed to play with, per his big sisters, and Robert Keen comes on the radio. We'll be having chicken and cantaloupe for supper.
The day is winding down and they are telling me that are D-O-N-E with being in the yard: