Picture Perfect

Take a deep, relaxing breath with me and picture my afternoon. A comfy 80 degrees in the backyard. Puffy white clouds are lazily sliding across the baby-blue sky. I'm on the back step, relaxing in the shade, watching my angelic children frolic in the yard. There's Naomi rolling endlessly in the grass--really endlessly, she never seems to get dizzy (disregard the 20 minutes I will later spend trying to get the grass stains out of her clothing). There's Hannah in the yellow dress and the yellow skirt--yes the skirt is superfluous, but this is an outfit she picked out herself and I dare not question her taste in fashion. There's Emma in-between potty trips back in her poofy vinyl training pants--yes, she had graduated out of them, and she's back in again--trying in vain to catch a fly in a butterfly net. And there's Toby, happily crunching down an inch-thick stick of blue sidewalk chalk. Whoa, buddy! Give that to Mommy. Holy cow, how much of this did you ingest?! You won't have any heartburn for a few weeks, will you? Was that spicy Mac and Cheese getting to you? OK, let's wipe off those lips--that pale blue-lipped look might be appealing to Bella, but not to me, sorry.

Where were we? Right, there's Hannah and Emma joining their voices together in yet another original musical arrangement of the word "Alleluia". Naomi's still rolling. Little Angels. And there's Toby kneading all ten chubby fingers through the wet sand in the sandbox--who forgot to put the cover on that thing anyway? Let's hope it's wet from the rain. No, Don't! Oh, you have to be kidding me, open your mouth you little booger! Spit it out! Spit out the whole mouthful of who-knows-why-it's-wet-sand. I don't think I'd be grinning like that if I were you. Go find something to do with you mouth closed, will you?

And there's Toby removing and dismantling the solar powered yard lights. There's Toby violently shaking the poles of the shade-tent. There's Toby attempting to break back into the sealed tub of sidewalk chalk. OK, Naomi time to stop rolling and come on in. Hannah, Emma, choir's over, time for dinner. Toby, into the high-chair you go, anything with a strap--ahhhhh, stillness. How about some real food Toby? No, not interested? Well, it is hard to measure up to the gourmet treats you're used to.