Yes, it is that time again. Time to chronicle life on the ole Tremayne country farm, one picture at a time.
Let us start, shall we, with the 2 days of the week that were actually warm.
We spent 'em outside. And thank goodness we did.
Note to self: there's a reason for swim diapers.
And I will have you know, that it was 55 degrees here on Saturday.
Which leads me to say, that before breakfast, Jace could be found. . .
"Mom I'm sooooo cold. That's why I'm wearing this."
Well, that's one way to solve the problem, son.
The facial expression is due to his mother laughing hysterically.
I apologized, by the by.
It's over. It.really.is.over.
8 or so goals later, several nose pickin's, one beellion "Jace! Pay attention!" 's, and several scoldings from the coach for pushing kids down to the ground for who knows what reason (I don't know where he got that from)
we're done. Sweet, sweet tears of joy.
I have no words.
But this, I do have words.
Sometimes, you just don't feel quite regular.
Which explains this weekend's poop fest.
So, I was hoping for some curls. A little "Orphan Annie" look for my lil gal.
Not gonna happen. I tried.
I hear a wail. I instantly know Jace is really, truly, not faking it to get his brother in trouble hurt.
"What's the matter??"
Jace, sobbing so hard he's having trouble talking: "I. . . .. . hurt. . .. my . . . wei. . . . ner. . . .. "
I head up to check things out. He's got Jamison's glasses case in his hands. Those things have a mighty swing shut. You put 2 and 2 together.
What was he thinking?
it was no one's birthday, it's waaaay past bedtime, those are thee most craptastic cupcakes you ever did saw, BUT
they wanted to make a wish and blow out the candles. So, I obliged.
And that, is all in a week's work.