Swing sets, Sandboxes, & Stripped Pajamas

Right after settling L & J into bed tonight I donned a lovely pair of ultra-baggy (hey, it was a good lunch today) stripped pajamas. I came downstairs, really, truly meant to lock the door, and instead walked right into the living room to put my feet up. A few minutes later when I heard a vehicle running right outside the house I jumped up, scrambled to the window and peaked through the blinds to see someone there checking out the swing set that we parked on the curb for free.

Instantly, I had a vague recollection- something about my husband mentioning he hadn't put the bag of bolt-thing-a-ma-jiggers out there with it and me telling him he should have because anyone that took the time to stop and look at the thing was most definitely not going to take it f there was nothing to put it together with included. I was desperate to get rid of it (and I'm pretty sure my next-door neighbors were too) so not thinking I ran out into the backyard in my stocking feet on a frantic hunt for this supposed bag. Then I reasoned with myself that had it been left outside surely the 4 year old male in the house would've located it with his built in magnet for all things boy and it's contents would be long gone. I dashed back inside right in time to hear someone knock on the door. Uggh. oooohnoo.

Frantically I looked down at my pajamas as I stood glued to the kitchen floor. Now, one thing you must realize about my house- to get upstairs you must go past the front door. From the front door you can see into the entire living room. The only place in the downstairs (okay, besides the bathroom) that you can't see from the front door is the kitchen. (Yes, I counted- that's three things you must know.) Basically, there was no way I was going to get past the front door to dash up the stairs and change without this person seeing me.

So there I stood in my pajamas having a mental war for about 30 seconds- should I pretend I wasn't home? Should I put a bathrobe on? Okay, seriously- how was that going to be any better? But if I didn't answer the door- that would mean he probably wasn't going to take the set. I peaked around the corner and saw a man standing there. Way to lock the outside porch door there, brilliant.

At last, I did the only thing I could and marched into the living room and answered the door. Poor guy. I think he probably thought he got me out of bed cause he started to stammer, "Uh. The swing set. Um, is it free?"

And, because I was standing there in my pajamas in front of complete stranger I started to babble a stream of nervous nonsense... Oh, yeah! Yep. It's all there. Or wait. Was there some bolts out there? I think my husband said he needed to put them out there. I wonder if I could find them. If they're around here somewhere. Do you want to take it? I mean... If I find the bolts? I think there's some swings there- my kids mainly used the swings. Well, and the slide. And the teeter-totter, but that's a little rickety. Besides the rust the frame is good, though. Want me to look for those bolts? Man, I was as cool as a -cucumber.

I did, at that point shut him out in the porch while I ran to change. Then, I actually was able to locate the missing bag- bonus of all bonuses. I was even able to find one of the swings that wasn't there- apparently my kids had hauled it back into the backyard.

But, it wasn't until I went to give him the swing that I saw the girl in the cab of the truck- Hey! I said as she started to get out, Did you come to my garage sale last week over at my parent's house and buy a turtle sandbox that you never picked up? Yep. She had paid for the thing and forgotten to come back and get it. Quite the coincidence. So after they loaded up the swing set I sent her across town to my parent's house to get the sandbox.

Maybe I should have offered them the basketball net that's in the backyard too.

Note to self: lock the door, perhaps?

Backyard Bouquets

Awww... a beautiful boquet of forget-me-nots from my little girl. She gave these to me a few weeks ago, but as I'm somewhat slow at loading pics onto the computer, I'm only now getting a look at them again. Ever since these flowers, I've received plenty of dandelions, indian paint brushes, and other assorted weeds from around the yard.

The bouquets aren't much. Scragly, wilted, half-opened weeds that prove the lawn really does need a mowing. But in the eyes of little children, they are beautiful, spectacular blooms rushed inside to me with love. "Mom, do you like these?" And... how can I not think are beautiful?

I've always been the sentimental one. All of my dolls had to sleep with me, lest one felt left out. When my dog died, I thought the world might as well end. Most birthday cards, notes, or letters I've ever recieved are tucked away, saved, and I can't bear to throw them away.

So backyard bouquets held out by a grubby little hand? I'm smitten. I wouldn't trade them for a million long stem roses. Because kids are little for such a short time... and I know all too well that this phase passes in a flury of minutes... and so quickly they forget to bring mom dandelions because all too soon they grow up and start to see those golden blooms as pesky weeds that stain fingers and shirts like so many of us adults.

As adults we become desensitized by bills and payments and work and car troubles. We sometimes forget that teddy bears and blankies have feelings because we are too consumed in our grown-up troubles. Childhood is such a precious time. It should be a time of innocence and imagination: free of worry and doubt. And even though as adults we cannot return to those simple states completely, we can look at our children to remind us when to slow down, when to really look and see all of God's beauty around us in the midst of struggles. When to reach out, to laugh, to be goofy, to cry so simply without reservations.

And when to stop and pick dandelion bouquets.