Go Fly a Kite. Literally.

Let's go fly a kite (Sounds fun.)

Up to the highest height (If the kite cooperates)

Let's go fly a kite (and doesn't go all kamikaze)

and send it soaring (like a certain psycho fish kite.)

Up through the atmosphere (Our kite didn't go that high.)

Up where the sky is clear (It tried to kill us instead)

Oh, let's go fly a kite (and nose dive on our heads.)

Let's go fly a kite! (It made for an exciting afternoon!)

-from Mary Poppins (and me)

If You Give a Boy a Cookie...

He will end up with a mustache.

This is some sort of messy-cookie-face-Oreo miracle! Doesn't it look like I drew a mustache on Colter's face with a marker? It's so perfectly formed, but I promise, I did not use a Sharpie on my sweet boy. I gave Colter an Oreo, did a few dishes, turned back to look at him, and suddenly, he had sprouted facial hair! What's in Oreos anyway? Thankfully, it wasn't a goatee, just cookie. On the other hand, I do know a person who shall not be named that finds a lot of hairs on his pillow each morning...too bad that particular person can't just rub Oreos on his soon-to-be-bald head.

EEEWWWW! Mummified Worms

We decided to open up the sandbox today and were greeted by worm mummies!!!! DISGUSTING! Apparently, over the several months the sandbox was closed, every worm in our yard climbed into Colter's sandbox and dried up in the sand. GROSS! We raked up a lot of worms, but I have a feeling we didn't get them all. I was all for buying new sand, but Colter was all for playing. Oh, well. A little worm guts never hurt anybody. Eww.

One Great Big Bad Biker Man Boy

So, my boy isn't all that big or bad, but I heard that Toby Keith song with those lyrics earlier today, so it sounded good. To those of you that, like my mom, would rather stick your head in an oven and crank up the gas than listen to country music, don't worry about who he is. You wouldn't like him. Trust me.

I'm a country girl at heart and am getting kinda tired of living in town, but I have to admit there are some advantages. We have a lot of fun at the parks and trails in our town. Partially because it's just hard to learn how to ride a bike on gravel roads and partially because my parents are cruel and like to deprive their children (kidding, Mom, kidding!), I didn't have a bike or learn to ride one until first grade, but Colter will probably be zipping around on a two-wheeler in the next year or two. It's a lot easier to ride a bike on asphalt! At a park near our home with a great walking trail, he drives circles around us on his tricycle. He loves his tricycle!

Whoosh!

Any forestry experts out there? What kind of tree is this? There is a grove of these trees along the trail, and we don't know what they are. They could be my friends, but I need to be introduced.

Look Out, World!

The prisoner has been released.

Can You Do This?

Remember that silly children's comeback, "So, so suck your toe all the way to Mexico?" Don't say that to this kid. He takes everything literally.

Croquet, Anyone?

If croquet ever becomes an Olympic sport, Colter's going to bring home the gold. I have no clue where my boy's obsession with croquet came from, but it's one of his favorite pastimes even though he doesn't play very often. He talks Daddy into it much more than me. Colter loves croquet so much that a badly written croquet song to the tune of "The Beverly Hillbillies" is part of our bedtime ritual. The words vary from night to night, but it consists of our family playing a crazy game or croquet in which balls end up on the roof and in our neighbor's yard. Yes, we are a little bit goofy. Just a little.