'gramming

a dozen years  #anniversaryselfie
#twopeople
strawberries and caterpillars
#watchout
blueberries
bicycles #tourdegrandview

books brothers
#love
catching frogs
observing bison
post school shopping play time via rht3627
fighting playground fires via rht3627

blessed in the aunt department
another good aunt #iwantgoagain
treated to donuts by aunt @ccoyle9777
cheese curls courtesy of aunt V #theymatchhishair
party in the street  #july4 #twinning @kpotsy
#roar
lots of mysteries to solve around here
elongating mirrors essentially demand selfies

too much construction on our street corner
he still looks little from afar
second s'more #hardtosayno
this is the stuff #thesearethedays
at the fair
on the sky glider

vacation groceries #notthebestpartofthetrip
bunch of berry pickers
#niceview
another nice view
the whole adult crew #thesearethedays #andthenights
digger
bucket brigade
Michigan 2014

*click images to enlarge

love a fair

There are parts of the fair that, as I get older, seem best in memory, or even just in theory.  Like the food, for example.  Spending the day there with the boys I was reminded, through them and with the right attitude, that the fair can be a lot of fun.  They went from being amazed and exhilarated to apathetic and exhausted.  But they did already ask to go back again next year.

intense

Most days I am stunned by his brilliance.
In the bright sunlight, his hair almost the color of an orange popsicle, a constellation of freckles across his nose, he strikes me as having a magical mix of imagination and exuberance.  And also the energy of an entire rugby team.

Earlier today we took the boys to the theater.  For a few minutes he sat and ate popcorn, not the way his brother does it, in big handfuls, but by ferrying each piece to his mouth one by one, the precision of a little machine.  When eating grew old he stood on his chair and ran up and down rows and asked to play games on our phones and then cried when we suggested he sit and watch the movie.

And then we almost left him in the frozen food aisle at the grocery store this evening.  He was rolling on the floor clutching a half-eaten kids club cookie, screaming about not getting to go in the big cold beer freezer room.  He continued to wail as we checked out, begging for a match box car hanging, until he grabbed it, right at kid eye-level on the end cap.  It did not come home with us, but he did.

These two year old tantrums occur with frightening intensity.  Like ON FIRE intensity.  Like if he were leaner his body might resemble a lit match, his head a flame.  
But he goes to bed at night and wakes bright and shiny and brilliant again.  Not a match, but a little like the sun's understudy.

low tide, high hearts

There were nineteen of us sharing two houses along the Lake Michigan shore last week, so many people using the same showers that the bath mats never had a chance to dry and the refrigerator door may have been open more than it was shut.  So many adults parenting that possessive pronouns lost their punch, and while another father fed our boys we grabbed whatever little hand needed holding down the steps to the sand.

The days poured honey-sun down backsides and left pink kisses on cheeks, the lake winking behind.  At the beach the children seemed very much like labradors, interested in sticks and rocks and running and digging, wild energy to spare.  Enough, in fact, to manage staying up late to watch the sunset, standing with binoculars till all the light bled from the sky.  And while our preference may have been for a little more downtime, we found short-lived relaxation and adult conversation in the wee hours.  Rolling into bed, the big boys smelled like beer and bourbon and the ghost of good cigars, and at breakfast everybody’s pajamas held the aroma of last night's campfire and that morning's bacon.

Traveling with small children can feel kind of like a nightmare, but the alternative is really boring.  We take the kids places so they can see things that belong to everyone and yet to no one, where each small pebble and slice of bark, every smooth piece of sea glass and slim green leaf are treasures to be appreciated and preserved.  So they can imagine a world much bigger and infinitely more beautiful than they already know.  We take the kids on trips with friends so they can bond while they bunk together, the sky too bright with stars to even think about sleeping.  So they can spend hours filling pails with rocks to bring home, getting rid of Michigan one bucket at a time, as Uncle Cory calls it.  And so they can fill their hearts with fond memories, so they learn to see greatness not just in the grand and glorious, but in tiny grains of sand and in the grins of their favorite once-in-awhile friends.