Fun in the Sun. With Some Mortification Thrown in.

So it's finally warm out. It's the middle of June and the temperature rose above 42 degrees a couple days ago for the first time all year. Ok, maybe that's a slight exaggeration, but seriously, this past winter was 9 years long. And that's the truth.

So we've been finally able to hang outside. Although the hanging with my kidlets hasn't been quite as pleasant as my poor deluded mind always convinces me it's going to be. Shocking, I know. Tate was sick AGAIN a few days ago, and as we all know, it takes him a good week to fully recover. This recovery week is what I lovingly refer to the "Watch Out, Tate Has Become Possessed by the Devil and all His Minions And Is Determined To Drive Me To Break Out The Tranquilizer Gun" week. We're on day 2. And it's just been loverly.

Last night we went to an outdoor concert with our playgroup. Tate had gone to bed late the night before, woken up early that morning, spent half the afternoon in time-out, smacked Eric on the cheek shortly before leaving, and fell asleep in the car on the way there. Do I really need to continue with the story? I'm sure you can see where this is going. What the hell. I have no shame.

We got there and he spent the first 25 minutes turning on a spigot that of course he found immediately that was by the water fountain. This spigot did not produce a little gentle, affable stream of water. No, when it was turned out, a gush of water would come frantically spewing out in all directions. It was like Niagra Falls. So Tate loved it and felt he should introduce his little sister to the magic of the Water Fountain Geyser, and then she loved it too. When told to stop wasting 500 gallons of water/second, he freaked. So then Eric took him on a walk. I watched as the screaming, flailing, infuriated toddler grew smaller and smaller and realized we would not be there much longer.

We weren't. Watching Tate steal food from other kids and poke me in the stomach and say "FAAAAAAT TUMMY!!!" really lost it's appeal pretty quickly. He got me in the boob once, too, which was kind of weird. So we left, and he loudly protested being strapped in the stroller the entire walk back. Being strapped in was "only for babies!", apparently. It was also only for our diminishing sanity, but he didn't really seem to care about that. So we got into the car, panting and sweating, and Tate declares "Oh, ME, it's chilly out!! Mom, can you believe how chilly it is??". It was 74 degrees. Whatever.

And then today...yeah. We went to a splash pad to let the kids run around. Tate went up to a kid who we didn't know who was easily the size of Hulk Hogan and who had bigger boobs than me (yeah, not hard, I know, but seriously...this kid was like 6), pulled the back of his swim trunks out and put something down them. I'm not kidding. I think it was a handful of grass. I also think I almost died. He then scampered away merrily while the kid gave him a look like "Oh yeah, you BETTER run before I smother you with my man boobs" and I tried to hide behind a tree. I do not know where this kid comes up with this stuff.

Nora, at least, is fairly normal. She's still extremely cuddly and snuggly, which is great most of the time, but man, when it's hot and muggy out...her nuzzling up to me is pretty much the equivalent of a fat sweaty ass sticking to a leather couch. And the ass is only going to get fatter and sweatier and the couch leatherier (yep, I made that word up) as the summer goes on.

Potty training is going awesome. We've made several forays into the big bad outside world with Tate only wearing undies and we've had no accidents. He is currently laying every single pair of undies he owns out on the couch and examining them with his head cocked to one side and tapping his lips with a finger and musing "Hmmm...I think I'll wear Thomas undies now, and then Buzz Lightyear later. I can wear Molly (which is actually Wall-E) ones tomorrow. And then Elmo. Ok, sounds good."

It's hard work, picking out undies.