I lit a fire under myself from yesterday's long overdue post. This morning as I was prepping my gear for today's wedding and bouncing back and forth from inside to out, I grabbed a camera and documented the fun.
Today is THE most gorgeous day I've seen since winter hit. And now that it's officially spring, I wish days like these would continue through the whole summer (and only rain on Wednesdays from 10am-3pm. I think that'd be sufficient, don't you?)
A birds nest Wilder has been keeping tabs on since he discovered it a few days ago. This is the tree he climbs about 20 times a day. I keep trying to tell him the story of how his Grandma Jane got her head pecked by a mama Robin when she unwittingly got too close to a nest one summer in her yard in Anchorage, AK, but all warning is falling on deaf ears. He continues to climb up and peer inside.
He wants to look at the pictures, not have them taken of him, apparently. What's rather cute now is that Wilder will come to me and say, "Mama, you go to work? You take the pictures?" He loves to look at the photos, but isn't super keen on being part of the process.
And you've obviously noticed the turquoise nail polish (it's on his toes, too) and ultra small Halloween get up. Brian was weeding through the kids clothing and Wilder's Halloween outfit from 2 years ago was in Waverley's bin. It struck a cord and now Wilder refuses to wear anything else. He looks like he ought to be in a bizarre ballet performance. I'd call it "Havoc Reeked By Terrifying Toddlers." Or maybe that'd just be the headlines once he reaches world domination. Next year.
You're going to see multiples of this moment because, let's face it, she's cute. Waverley trying to hit a low branch with an amazingly oversized twig Wilder broke off yesterday.
The ridiculousness of Wilder's outfit amazes me. And makes me really, really happy.
We have no doubts about his masculinity. He may ride a pastel Big Wheel, but he'll conquer China by Christmas. And that's just so he can have all the Thomas the Tank Engine toys he wants.
It's Aht, Dahling.
Thus defines the relationship between them. What's his is his, what's hers is his. Gimme that.
Our beautiful pear trees. That don't produce pears. Why are they even called pear trees if they are never supposed to make fruit? I don't get it.