Sexy Sadie

I have learned after moving to Moraine that I absolutely must  maintain a sense of humor about the state of things.  For example, I have found it absolutely impossible to keep up with the laundry.  The moment I make headway, another pair of muddy play pants or smoke-tinged Carharts somehow finds it's way into the dirty basket.  As soon as the floors are vacuumed, I watch as someone enters the front door and is followed by a trail of blowing ginko leaves, brought in by a sort of jet-stream that forms as the doors are opened.  Tiny pebbles, mounds of sand, and little molds of dry dirt from the bottoms of boots are scattered all over our beautiful new floors.  I try to laugh.  After all, with the exception of the cats, I am the only girl in the household.

Boys are dirty. They are messy little creatures who find ways to stash their treasures in the least convenient of places.  If I am not careful, my dishes become habitats to salamanders and frogs.  My shoes get slipped on and used as quick footwear to trek through the mud to investigate a sound by the pond.  If I don't pay close attention, my washer and dryer end up with little piles of silt, candy wrappers, and -oddly- seeds, deposited on the bottom of the drum.  Sheets have been slept on by poison ivy infected fingers or have little spit-up piles on them.  Pudding cups on the tables, A and B math papers take over the kitchen table. (See what I did there? A little mom-bragging moment.)

rest.

Big brother.

legomaniac.

windowsill rock treasures.

homemade artillery.

treasures.

It's a beautiful life.  I cannot complain. I have two of the cutest, sweetest sons you have ever seen.  They really love their mom. And I am sure that as little brother grows, he will become just as present as Big brother - noticeable by his trail of action figures and rocks and cool-shaped sticks. I'm sure I have several more years of homemade weapons and shields and dried up mud clumps.  I have to laugh.  I have to be thankful there are still acres and acres of dirt that has been left outdoors. 

little brother.

geode

I have to be understanding.  I have to remember that every frog must be caught and observed, every salamander examined, every questionable rock cracked opened in case it might be a geode.  I have to keep reminding myself that dirt can be swept away but memories and explorations cannot.  Sometimes the laundry must wait so we can run outside barefoot to watch the Sandhill cranes pass by. 

backyard holiday tablecloth teepee/home base.

wolverine mask in cat bowl.

the elusive geode on comic book display platform.

I would like to say the messes are temporary. That the kids will grow out of it. However, living with Darling Husband reminds me that they will not. I know he tries, but there is an ever-present mechanism in his brain that will not allow him to miss an opportunity to walk through the house in his muddy boots to find the camera when he sees a newly blossoming plant.  This is what I love about him. It's the trail he leaves behind that I have to accept.

mud vessel.

I live in a world of discoveries.  Not that they are new - but they are new to us - and I don't want to miss a thing.  I don't want the boys to miss a thing.  Spring is only once a year.

We have such high hopes for this spring.  I hope for a vegetable garden, although I have always been a terrible gardener.  I have maintained that if I can make one meal, just one, from what we've grown in the garden this spring I will consider it a success.  And try harder next year.  I hope for a functional koi pond, although I know it will be difficult.  It is currently covered by a slimy layer of dead plants, slime, and some green gunk.  We shall see.

 At least I'm not afraid to get a little dirty anymore.

-S.