The other day, I got into the parking garage elevator after a long day of work. It was a Friday afternoon, and it had been somewhat of a draining week, so I was kind of mindlessly going through the motions of getting out to my car, and not paying much attention to my surroundings.
I got on the elevator, and stared out the large glass wall on the back edge. The elevator door shut.
At the last second, some guy stuck his arm in the path of the elevator door, the door opened back up, and he got on the elevator.
He could apparently tell that I wasn't paying much attention, because he started apologizing for startling me before I actually even registered a startle.
But I did jump, spun around, and he said, "sorry, sorry, just trying to catch the elevator!"
I relaxed, nodded at him, and he pressed the button and the door closed.
As we're riding up, he laughed and said, "You should see the people at 5:30 in the morning, when they don't think there is anyone else in the parking garage, and then I get on the elevator, boy are they surprised."
I politely laughed, mumbled something like, "oh I bet," and then we were on my floor so I got out and went to my car.
Then I started thinking, did he really just tell me a story about his other 'scaring-people-by-stealing-into-the-elevator-at-the-last-second' experiences? Does this guy regularly make it a point to swipe elevators as the doors are closing? How is it that he actually has a wealth of elevator-swiping stories upon which to draw in this situation?
Weird.
Sunday, February 12, 2012
Thursday, February 2, 2012
Like a Record, Baby
We were having a particularly temperamental evening, with the kids acting a bit cranky at bedtime. So, to lighten the mood, I told each of them they had to come up with a silly way to go upstairs. They could crawl, they could skip, they could hop on one foot, but it had to be silly.
Travis chose jumping.
Sophie chose marching.
Noah chose being carried.
I told him that wasn't really silly enough. Try again, Noah.
I want you to carry me.
How about.....walking backwards?
mmmmm....nope.
How about on your knees?
Please will you carry me?
How about....spinning?
What if you carry me and we both spin?
I gave in. I'm a sucker. I picked him up and we both spun our way up the stairs to brush his teeth. He giggled uncontrollably the entire time, and I nearly passed out from dizziness at the top of the stairs.
In retrospect, not such a brilliant idea.
But, crankiness.....GONE. In it's place, a bunch of marching, jumping, spinning goofballs.
Monday, January 30, 2012
Now that's mushy
Yeah....I'm not a particularly gushy mom, but I don't have a heart of STONE.
So I have to do a little bit of mommy-vomiting today, and by that I mean the sugary, overly sweet, ohmigosh-my-kids-are-so-awesome-and-can-you-believe-what-they-did-and-doesn't-it-just-make-you-want-to-cry anecdotes that I generally try to avoid because it's just NOT MY THING.
But, today? It's my thing.
This, on a little scrap of paper cut with fancy craft scissors into the shape of a heart. He got done with his art project early at school, and decided to write me a note.
Gulp.
So I have to do a little bit of mommy-vomiting today, and by that I mean the sugary, overly sweet, ohmigosh-my-kids-are-so-awesome-and-can-you-believe-what-they-did-and-doesn't-it-just-make-you-want-to-cry anecdotes that I generally try to avoid because it's just NOT MY THING.
But, today? It's my thing.
Dear Mom,
If I could
choose
who
my Mom was,
I would choose
you.
Love,
Travis
This, on a little scrap of paper cut with fancy craft scissors into the shape of a heart. He got done with his art project early at school, and decided to write me a note.
Gulp.
Sunday, January 29, 2012
By the light of a dying firefly
I ran my first ever trail race this weekend, 6.55 miles. It was a night race, which was interesting, mostly because I had not tested my head lamp ahead of time, and either it was just not powerful enough, or its batteries were running low, because by mile 4 I was barely able to see a foot in front of me.
And this was a TRAIL in every sense of the word, meaning it wasn't just some flat grassy path, it was a narrow, root-and-rock-laden trail with fallen logs and huge muddy-swampy areas. There were some wooden stairs and a couple bridges that had to be crossed, and doing that all in the dark of night with a faint orange glow that only serves to let you know that there is not a gigantic tree or rock wall on your very next step rather than to actually light your way was....well, an experience.
Truthfully? I loved it.
Once it was over.
During, I mostly just hoped I didn't fall down, and tried to stay reasonably close to packs of people with real head lamps.
Results:
87th of 230 racers
13th of 54 in my age group (F 30-39)
Time of 1:14:21.7
In my training, I ran 6 miles a couple of times, each in about 58 minutes. I ran a 7-miler once, in the bitter cold, and clocked my 6.55 time as 1:04:40, running along the Riverwalk bike path near my house. I was kind of hoping to beat that time, but once I started on the trail I realized what a joke that was, seeing as how I was leaping over logs every 500 foot, and the last mile of this race was so awfully muddy that I slowed to a trot just to keep my shoes from getting sucked off my feet.
My good bud Heather was sucker enough to run this race with me, here we are before realizing what we'd gotten ourselves into. I know, my head lamp is certainly stylish, but that's where its valuable qualities end. Unless maybe someone was trying to use it to pass off as a dying firefly or something.
After the race, we headed back to Heather's house for shower and pizza, and to meet up with some friends to check out the Super Bowl Village in downtown Indy. I felt surprisingly refreshed considering my day, and managed to stay out on the town until about 1:30 a.m.
And this was a TRAIL in every sense of the word, meaning it wasn't just some flat grassy path, it was a narrow, root-and-rock-laden trail with fallen logs and huge muddy-swampy areas. There were some wooden stairs and a couple bridges that had to be crossed, and doing that all in the dark of night with a faint orange glow that only serves to let you know that there is not a gigantic tree or rock wall on your very next step rather than to actually light your way was....well, an experience.
Truthfully? I loved it.
Once it was over.
During, I mostly just hoped I didn't fall down, and tried to stay reasonably close to packs of people with real head lamps.
Results:
87th of 230 racers
13th of 54 in my age group (F 30-39)
Time of 1:14:21.7
In my training, I ran 6 miles a couple of times, each in about 58 minutes. I ran a 7-miler once, in the bitter cold, and clocked my 6.55 time as 1:04:40, running along the Riverwalk bike path near my house. I was kind of hoping to beat that time, but once I started on the trail I realized what a joke that was, seeing as how I was leaping over logs every 500 foot, and the last mile of this race was so awfully muddy that I slowed to a trot just to keep my shoes from getting sucked off my feet.
My good bud Heather was sucker enough to run this race with me, here we are before realizing what we'd gotten ourselves into. I know, my head lamp is certainly stylish, but that's where its valuable qualities end. Unless maybe someone was trying to use it to pass off as a dying firefly or something.
After the race, we headed back to Heather's house for shower and pizza, and to meet up with some friends to check out the Super Bowl Village in downtown Indy. I felt surprisingly refreshed considering my day, and managed to stay out on the town until about 1:30 a.m.
The gals: Me, Michele, Heather, Ashley
We finished off the festivities with a steak burrito from La Bamba's, which everyone knows is the mark of a truly fantastic night.
Friday, January 27, 2012
I'm allergic to marriage.
Oh, hello, blog world. It's me. I suppose I've been neglecting you. Let me make it up to you by telling you a story.
Two nights ago, I woke up multiple times, uncomfortable and panicked about my wedding ring.
Well, actually, my ring finger.
It was sore, and painful. It was the middle of the night though, so I wasn't coherent enough to do anything about it other than twist my ring around and aggravate it a bit before falling back asleep.
In the morning, I woke up and realized my ring finger was red and swollen. I tried to slip my ring off.
Uh-uh. Not gonna happen.
My poor finger was so irritated and swollen, there was just no way I was gonna get this ring off. My ring is normally just exactly the right size, a teensy bit of give so that it's not uncomfortable but not enough to spin around freely. In cold weather, it tends to spin a bit as my blood vessels constrict.
But swollen finger + just-right-sized wedding ring do not mix. The thing wouldn't come off.
I kind of hoped my drive into work would do the trick to get my hands cold enough that the swelling would go down and I could slip the sucker off. Unfortunately, it was an unseasonably warm morning, and although I purposefully tossed my gloves aside and didn't turn the heat on in the car, my finger stayed angry and swollen.
I got to work, and started to get a little panicky, envisioning me having to call the fire department to cut my ring off my finger (do you call the fire dept for that sort of thing? In my head it made sense but now that seems utterly ridiculous). I Googled some ideas (everyone knows Google is the foremost authority on everything in the universe, I always say if you can't find it on Google, it's NOT WORTH KNOWING) and grabbed the jar of lotion I keep at my desk and applied it liberally to my left hand.
Actually, Google told me to try the lotion after soaking my hand in a bucket of ice water for 15 minutes, but I'm a working woman and that seemed way more trouble than I was ready to deal with.
The lotion worked. The ring slipped off.
I breathed a huge sigh of relief, then stared in shock at the seeping wound on my ring finger.
Not only was there a band of angry redness where my ring used to be, but there was actually an open sore. It was so inflamed and red that at first glance it still looks like there is a flipping ring on my finger. (A weird, ugly, red ring with a setting of seeping nastiness, sure, but you get my drift.)
I can't figure out why this would have happened. I've worn that ring for 10-and-a-half years and it's never caused me any problems. I haven't changed soaps or cleansers or detergents or anything that might have gotten stuck under my ring and festered. I lift weights 3 times a week, but always wear my lifting gloves, precisely so that I don't have to take my ring off.
I never take my ring off.
Except for in the ninth month of pregnancy, when my hands are swollen and icky. And then I spend the whole last month and a half thinking I look like some kind of unwed tramp and assuming everyone I come in contact with that doesn't know me is all judging me in my unmarried, super-pregnant state.
Sometimes I get a little paranoid.
Anyway, I'm gonna give my finger a few days to recuperate, and then try it again. Hopefully I can make it another ten and a half years before this happens again.
Two nights ago, I woke up multiple times, uncomfortable and panicked about my wedding ring.
Well, actually, my ring finger.
It was sore, and painful. It was the middle of the night though, so I wasn't coherent enough to do anything about it other than twist my ring around and aggravate it a bit before falling back asleep.
In the morning, I woke up and realized my ring finger was red and swollen. I tried to slip my ring off.
Uh-uh. Not gonna happen.
My poor finger was so irritated and swollen, there was just no way I was gonna get this ring off. My ring is normally just exactly the right size, a teensy bit of give so that it's not uncomfortable but not enough to spin around freely. In cold weather, it tends to spin a bit as my blood vessels constrict.
But swollen finger + just-right-sized wedding ring do not mix. The thing wouldn't come off.
I kind of hoped my drive into work would do the trick to get my hands cold enough that the swelling would go down and I could slip the sucker off. Unfortunately, it was an unseasonably warm morning, and although I purposefully tossed my gloves aside and didn't turn the heat on in the car, my finger stayed angry and swollen.
I got to work, and started to get a little panicky, envisioning me having to call the fire department to cut my ring off my finger (do you call the fire dept for that sort of thing? In my head it made sense but now that seems utterly ridiculous). I Googled some ideas (everyone knows Google is the foremost authority on everything in the universe, I always say if you can't find it on Google, it's NOT WORTH KNOWING) and grabbed the jar of lotion I keep at my desk and applied it liberally to my left hand.
Actually, Google told me to try the lotion after soaking my hand in a bucket of ice water for 15 minutes, but I'm a working woman and that seemed way more trouble than I was ready to deal with.
The lotion worked. The ring slipped off.
I breathed a huge sigh of relief, then stared in shock at the seeping wound on my ring finger.
Not only was there a band of angry redness where my ring used to be, but there was actually an open sore. It was so inflamed and red that at first glance it still looks like there is a flipping ring on my finger. (A weird, ugly, red ring with a setting of seeping nastiness, sure, but you get my drift.)
I can't figure out why this would have happened. I've worn that ring for 10-and-a-half years and it's never caused me any problems. I haven't changed soaps or cleansers or detergents or anything that might have gotten stuck under my ring and festered. I lift weights 3 times a week, but always wear my lifting gloves, precisely so that I don't have to take my ring off.
I never take my ring off.
Except for in the ninth month of pregnancy, when my hands are swollen and icky. And then I spend the whole last month and a half thinking I look like some kind of unwed tramp and assuming everyone I come in contact with that doesn't know me is all judging me in my unmarried, super-pregnant state.
Sometimes I get a little paranoid.
Anyway, I'm gonna give my finger a few days to recuperate, and then try it again. Hopefully I can make it another ten and a half years before this happens again.
Sunday, January 15, 2012
"Nothing, Mom!"
Sophie is very project-oriented.
Unfortunately, the projects she decides to take on generally are in direct opposition with our goals for the household.
Like, how coloring on the walls in the hallway with our new bathtub crayons is, you know, at odds with my goal to keep our walls, well, un-crayoned.
Or how her plan to sneak all the keys off the key holder and hide them in the couch cushions kind of derails our ability to...um...know where our keys are at. Thus making it tough for us to lock things. And unlock them.
Or how her tendency to take all of the half-dollar sized discs from our Connect Four Launcher game and stick them between her toes and walk throughout the house on her heels makes it difficult for us to a) keep track of all those game pieces and b) not fear that our daughter is a total nutjob.
I mean, where does she come up with this???
She's the kind of kid you have to keep a pretty close eye on. Five minute stretches when you haven't heard from her means you're likely to find her in the bathroom squirting cucumber-melon hand soap all over the counter so she could 'clean it'.
She's good about cleaning up her projects, thankfully -- but she hasn't yet mastered the art of distinguishing which activities are appropriate for a three-year-old to engage in, and which are perilously close to getting us a visit from the fire marshal.
The thing is, she's well aware when she's doing something she probably shouldn't.
Like the other day, when I walked out of my bedroom and past the upstairs bathroom, and out of the corner of my eye noticed Sophie leaning over the bathtub, doing something. I didn't know quite what, probably trying to shove quarters down the drain or something, but hadn't even had a chance yet to get a word out of my mouth -- when she heard me behind her, startled, spun around, looked up at me, and declared, "Nothing, Mom!"
This is her standard response lately. When I walk into the kitchen and she's pushing a kitchen chair up to the key hanger on the wall (so that's how she got Ben's server-room key), and I say "Sophie, what do you need that chair for?"
"Nothing, Mom!"
When she's eating her snack at the table and I see her dipping something in her milk (is that her cheese stick? or my iPod?) and I say, "Sophie! Don't put things in your milk! What IS that?"
"Nothing, Mom!"
So, we're gonna have to nip this in the bud somehow. Without stifling her insane creativity and adventerous spirit.
Something tells me she'll be alright.
Unfortunately, the projects she decides to take on generally are in direct opposition with our goals for the household.
Like, how coloring on the walls in the hallway with our new bathtub crayons is, you know, at odds with my goal to keep our walls, well, un-crayoned.
Or how her plan to sneak all the keys off the key holder and hide them in the couch cushions kind of derails our ability to...um...know where our keys are at. Thus making it tough for us to lock things. And unlock them.
Or how her tendency to take all of the half-dollar sized discs from our Connect Four Launcher game and stick them between her toes and walk throughout the house on her heels makes it difficult for us to a) keep track of all those game pieces and b) not fear that our daughter is a total nutjob.
I mean, where does she come up with this???
She's the kind of kid you have to keep a pretty close eye on. Five minute stretches when you haven't heard from her means you're likely to find her in the bathroom squirting cucumber-melon hand soap all over the counter so she could 'clean it'.
She's good about cleaning up her projects, thankfully -- but she hasn't yet mastered the art of distinguishing which activities are appropriate for a three-year-old to engage in, and which are perilously close to getting us a visit from the fire marshal.
The thing is, she's well aware when she's doing something she probably shouldn't.
Like the other day, when I walked out of my bedroom and past the upstairs bathroom, and out of the corner of my eye noticed Sophie leaning over the bathtub, doing something. I didn't know quite what, probably trying to shove quarters down the drain or something, but hadn't even had a chance yet to get a word out of my mouth -- when she heard me behind her, startled, spun around, looked up at me, and declared, "Nothing, Mom!"
This is her standard response lately. When I walk into the kitchen and she's pushing a kitchen chair up to the key hanger on the wall (so that's how she got Ben's server-room key), and I say "Sophie, what do you need that chair for?"
"Nothing, Mom!"
When she's eating her snack at the table and I see her dipping something in her milk (is that her cheese stick? or my iPod?) and I say, "Sophie! Don't put things in your milk! What IS that?"
So, we're gonna have to nip this in the bud somehow. Without stifling her insane creativity and adventerous spirit.
Something tells me she'll be alright.
Sunday, January 8, 2012
Party of Five: The Book
Attention faithful followers.... The Party of Five: 2011 book is ready!!
I'm going to be making an order here soon, let me know if you want one and I will add it to my order.
(Last year's book is still available as well, in case you missed it and want one! Click here to see 2011 and here to see 2009/2010.)
I'm going to be making an order here soon, let me know if you want one and I will add it to my order.
(Last year's book is still available as well, in case you missed it and want one! Click here to see 2011 and here to see 2009/2010.)
Thursday, January 5, 2012
Hide and.... well, just hide.
Tonight the kids and I played the best game of hide-and-seek.
My first hiding spot was in the curtain behind the Christmas tree (yep, still haven't taken it down yet, don't judge) in the dining room.
The kids could not find me, so after several minutes of searching, I waited until they were in the kitchen and boomed, "I'M IN THE DINING ROOM!"
They all three raced in the dining room, looked around, and screamed, "No you're not, mom! You're not in here!" and then raced out and kept searching.
They did eventually find me. Then it was Noah's turn to count, and then mine, and finally Sophie's.
Sophie, though, was having too much fun playing the game. She didn't want it to end. So when she found Travis crouched behind the toy box (he said, "I'm not using my best hiding skills because she's still too young,"), she said, "I can't find you!"
Travis, still crouching in his spot, said, "Sophie! Can you see me?"
She stared directly at him, thought for a moment, and said, "Nope. I can't see you anywhere."
Five minutes later, she's still searching.
This could be a long night.
Saturday, December 31, 2011
Happy Birthday Travis!!
I can hardly believe it has been seven years since I became a parent.
I've learned a lot in those seven years. I've learned that parenting rarely turns out like you think it will, and the best-laid intentions can be left in the dust when reality sets in. I've learned that it's a lot harder than I thought it would be to watch my kid grow up. I've learned that there's no way to describe the feeling of vulnerability I have when it comes to my kids and their life experiences. I've learned that crayon stains from a melted crayon in the dryer almost NEVER come out of clothing.
But mostly, I've learned how awesome it is to be a mom. Especially to such a terrific kid.
I love you, buddy.
Beach on Lake Michigan
Carriage Ride
Canada 2006
Favorite yellow hat
First day of pre-school
First Notre Dame football game
Christmas 2006
Kids craft project at Lowe's.
Christmas 2007
Canada 2008
Christmas 2008
With Swoop at the Silverhawks game
Loving the Jeep
At the park with buddy Una
Family Pictures
First day of Pre-Kindergarten
Healthworks Kids Museum
Christmas 2010
Curious Kids Museum
Biking with dad
Happy 7th Birthday!!
Friday, December 23, 2011
That's a questionable profession for a three-year-old.
Sophie's been dancing around the living room with moves that slightly resemble ballet dancing, inasmuch as a three-year-old's haphazard movements can. She spins around with her arms in a circle above her head, or outstretched as though she is contemplating performing a pirouette.
Ben and I were discussing this. Has she seen ballet dancing on TV? Or is she just a natural-born ballet dancer?
Sophie says, "Hooray! I wanna be a belly dancer!"
In other news, we took her to Build A Bear on Friday evening for her birthday. She'd never been there before, which is a travesty given how much she loves stuffed animals.
She quite enjoyed the experience.
At the urging of Noah, and to his utter delight, she picked out a penguin for her stuffed animal.
Here she is, giving her penguin his heart.
Here, she is showing the Build-A-Bear "stuffed animal creator" how old she is.
Sophie loves her penguin.
Uh....Noah does too.
Here's all the kids helping to give Pengwee a bath.
And, finally, a shout-out to our friend Colin who celebrated his fifth birthday this week. The kids enjoyed the Chuck E Cheese party.
The boys giving a round of applause.
Sophie, of course, loved ol' Chuck.
The birthday boy!
That, my friends, is the look of a kid who's not sure he knows what he's gotten himself into.
Let the ticket blasting begin!!
Happy Birthday Colin!
Friday, December 16, 2011
Happy Birthday Sophie
Sophie,
Today is your third birthday.
Three years ago today, I held you in the hospital, with your little ankle band that read "Baby Girl Davidson" because we hadn't yet decided on your name.
We had gone into the hospital with three possible choices.
Sophie, Hannah, or Ashley.
As soon as you were born, I threw Ashley out of the ring. You didn't look like an Ashley. Not one bit.
I was torn between Sophie and Hannah. The rest of the family was leaning towards Sophie, but I just wasn't sure. I didn't want to make this decision lightly. I wanted the name to suit you.
I was holding you, and you had a little red and green hospital knit hat on. I was still debating, Hannah .... Sophie. I just couldn't decide.
Just then, I took your hat off. I wanted to see your cute little fuzzy head.
In that instant, it became clear to me that you were a Sophie. Don't ask me why. I'm quite certain it was mostly to do with my insanely hormonal post-pregnancy emotions rather than any sort of logic whatsoever. But I was adamant. You were no Hannah.
The nurse, who happened to be in the room at the moment I made this decision, smiled at me and said, "I was hoping you'd pick that name. I like it better."
I'm fairly certain she would have said that either way.
But she's right.
You are most definitely a Sophie.
Today is your third birthday.
Three years ago today, I held you in the hospital, with your little ankle band that read "Baby Girl Davidson" because we hadn't yet decided on your name.
We had gone into the hospital with three possible choices.
Sophie, Hannah, or Ashley.
As soon as you were born, I threw Ashley out of the ring. You didn't look like an Ashley. Not one bit.
I was torn between Sophie and Hannah. The rest of the family was leaning towards Sophie, but I just wasn't sure. I didn't want to make this decision lightly. I wanted the name to suit you.
I was holding you, and you had a little red and green hospital knit hat on. I was still debating, Hannah .... Sophie. I just couldn't decide.
Just then, I took your hat off. I wanted to see your cute little fuzzy head.
In that instant, it became clear to me that you were a Sophie. Don't ask me why. I'm quite certain it was mostly to do with my insanely hormonal post-pregnancy emotions rather than any sort of logic whatsoever. But I was adamant. You were no Hannah.
The nurse, who happened to be in the room at the moment I made this decision, smiled at me and said, "I was hoping you'd pick that name. I like it better."
I'm fairly certain she would have said that either way.
But she's right.
You are most definitely a Sophie.
Happy Birthday.
Thursday, December 15, 2011
Gingerbread Run and Santa Train
Last weekend, we headed to the northeast side of the state for some visits with Ben's family, celebration of Sophie's upcoming birthday, and a train ride with Santa.
Since we were over there for the weekend, I signed up for a 4-mile race in Fort Wayne that I had found online.
I've been looking for longer races than a 5K, but haven't been able to find many 10Ks in the area. When I found this 4-miler, a bit longer than a 5K, I decided to go for it. Fort Wayne is about an hour south of my in-laws, and I thought this would be a good entry into longer races.
The race started at 8:30, but I made it down there about 45 minutes early.
It was freezing.
I mean, sub-freezing. Eighteen degrees, roughly.
Standing outside on the start line waiting to get the race underway was nothing less than miserable. But, by a few minutes into the race, most of the misery had subsided. About a mile into it, my lungs stopped burning, and I felt pretty good.
I was shooting for 36 minutes (9-minute mile pace) and managed to cross the finish at 35:06. That put me at 52nd place of 206, and 7th of 43 in my category of 30-39 Female. (Plus, I beat the roughly 50 runners that signed up for the race but apparently stayed home in bed, likely because of the frigid temperatures.)
True to form, I slept fitfully the night before the race -- I guess that tradition holds true even if I'm sleeping in someone else's home. I pretty much woke up every hour (at least) starting around 1:15 a.m.; I think I was nervous about oversleeping.
I'm still looking for a 10K to run; then my next big race is a 10-miler that I've signed up for in April.
At any rate, after the race, I drove back up to Angola, showered, helped Ben get the kids ready, then we headed up to Coldwater, Michigan for a 45-minute train ride to Quincy, Michigan and back, along with grandma & pa-pa, Uncle Mac & Aunt Jody, cousins Trevor & Nathan, and Jody's parents. Santa happened to hitch a ride on this same train as well, so the kids got to head back to the caboose and visit with him.
Travis asked for a Nintendo DS.
Noah was too nervous to ask for anything, but he was pretty agreeable to whatever Santa decided to bring him and was ecstatic about the candy cane he got as a parting gift.
Sophie asked for a snow globe.
She loves snow globes.
And people.
And Santa, in particular. I had to drag her off his lap so she didn't monopolize the entire train ride talking to Santa about snow globes and birthday cakes and her friend Colin's upcoming party at Chuck E Cheese that she can't stop talking about.
She's exhausting.
But cute.
Boarding the train
The boys in the "boy square"
Me, Soph & Ben
Nater
Noah
Trevor
Travis, and Santa (not the real one)
Mac & Jo. Mac with a cheesy smile, and Jody not really aware that I'm taking a picture.
That's more like it, Mac.
Pa-pa and Grandma
Halfway through, we got out for a bit to stretch. Wait, who is that exiting the caboose??
Noah was excited. Look who I saw, ma!
Not so sure
Okay, not so bad
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)