Is This Miami?

Our summer is so unfairly short. We have to head for the beach every 75+ degree day we can.

Water babies at Lake Elmo.

Childlike

Grandma Marge. She does it all without caffeine, people.

The Reason Little Girls' Skirts Come With Bloomers

I don't know why "Ability to go down a slide by him-/herself" isn't on the Denver Developmental Screening. It should be. Seems like a major milestone to me.

No One is Looking

The kids go for a leisurely walk through the park together, arm in arm, right?
No, he's gearing up to shove her.

See?

Fine. Be a Princess. See if I Care.

I keep trying to make this claim that I'm raising my tots in the most gender neutral way I know how. Um, who am I fooling? I not only dress my little girl up in a tutu (which I did not buy for her, for the record - if that matters), but then I find it so adorable that I take a thousand pictures.

I quote Noah, quoting me, "You have got to be kidding me."

Up!

Generally, I love one and a half almost as much as I love three. She's lovely, she's sweet, she says a hundred barely intelligible things. But this,


Greta, this is super exhausting, and frankly, getting a little old.

Detergent

Ava's baptism. Yeah, it was like a month ago. Don't judge.
Grandma Marge brilliantly had a dozen bottles of bubbles waiting for the toddlers. A huge hit.
80 percent spilled on the lawn. 100 percent fun.



(just like Matthew Sweet)

Who's the Boss

Another thing I love about three: bossiness. Or maybe that's the fire sign in him. Either way, it's hard not to crack up when he tells me which pair of flip flops to wear or, my favorite, "You NEVER talk back to me, Mom!" I've never said that. I swear.

Approaching the Speed of Light

Have I mentioned that three is my favorite age ever? The cuteness, the busy-ness, the imagination, the absolute adoration of me, the potty-trained-ness. I'll even take the endless stream of chatter and the occasional unprovoked sister shove. I've asked Noah to stay exactly this age forever. He's thinking it over.

Pop

One more from the family reunion.
The Father's Day edition.

Often Toasted

The family reunion edition.
A very long post.
In no particular order.
With pictures stolen from Mom & Dad.

The Rice-Keser representatives. Noah, Kevin, G'ma Rose, Sarah, Lindsey, Greta.

Grandpa, Lindsey, Grandma with full bellies.

When you don't sleep at night in your motel room. PS, no sunscreen, a two hour nap. The inside of my right calf and my left knee are still peeling. PPS, still a good mom. Baby is both mechanically and chemically protected from both UVA and UVBs.

Aunt Sandy and Uncle Mark.

Snack time.

Dinner time. Tom's back, Shell, Tony (or, as Noah refers to him, along with his brother, Dougandtony), Andrew, unknown fella, Aaron.

Aunt Shelley, Ali, Ken (the other K Hanson/en).

Tony, Ryan and Noah before the moonlight matinee.

Sing it.

Uncle Mark, Mom and Don around the campfire.

Noah arranges his food (not the first time) while Great Grandma looks on.

Uncle Mark, Andrew, Stephen, Courtney and Nick. Not pictured: beer trailer.

Doug. One half of Noah's favorite part about family get -togethers.

Ms. Hobbit.

Tree hugger.

Should have been a civil engineer.

We love beach.


Noah 1, Watermelon 0.

No Trespassing

We were promised a playground down the street and up the hill when we bought this place. Reportedly, the plans were already in the works. No playground. Just orange and white striped barricades. We trespass all the time. If there were ever any construction going on, we'd probably have to be careful for bulldozers and front end loaders. But none. If the housing market ever improves, Greta and Noah may have to share their slice of gravel pit heaven.