Watermelon Watermelon

Just saying watermelon makes me smile.  Try it.  Are you smiling?

This is the Watermelon Trance similar in look and feel to the food coma
one experiences after eating Thanksgiving dinner.

Are you smiling now?  I will never again say watermelon without these images popping into my head.  Nearly three-year-old Channing enjoying a juicy, red slice of summer.  One of those evenings you want to bottle up and keep forever and ever.  

I’ve been waiting all summer to take these pictures.  Channing + watermelon = one sticky, sweet mess of cuteness.  He couldn’t quite figure out how to hold that wedge, choosing to keep his hands balled into fists at times.  The tilt of the head was the same, regardless of the slice.  And he enjoyed every last bite.  Every.  Last.  Bite. 

Then we moved on to summersaults in the grass.  I will refrain from sharing the photos Channing took of me.  Mostly, they're just trees and sky.  His aim was a little off.  He did get one nice shot of my mid-section, shirt sliding toward my armpits as I stood on my head.  Ha!

Followed by bubble blowing on the porch.  If you’re particularly observant, you may just notice Channing’s secret hiding space for his bubble factory as you pass through our front door.  He’s been stashing his bottle of bubbles in there for several weeks now. 

Now that we’ve neighbors next door and it’s someone else’s turn to water the heck out of their new sod, it’s that much more enjoyable to play in the pools of run-off that collect on the sidewalk, especially when you can dig just one little finger into the crack where lawn meets concrete and come up with a gooey muddy mess time after time. 

Each time he’d pull his finger out, he’d prompt me to shriek, ‘Eeewwww!  Gross!!!!’ and laugh as he rinsed it clean in the puddle before doing it again.  And again.  And again.  And yet again.  

I know.  I know.  Random toe photo to wrap up this post.  They're cute though.  I couldn't resist sharing.  Don't you want to just give 'em a quick nibble?  

Following through

Today, I followed through on a promise I made to myself well before Channing and Sophie came to be.  I vowed to be the mom that says 'do' more than she says 'don't'.  It's OK to be silly.  It's OK to get dirty.  Messes are just messes and can be cleaned up.  Unconventional means can have the most rewarding ends.


Take for example, our make shift ball pit.  Aunt Kris purchased a bag-o-balls for activities at the Carlton Family reunion that took place at the cabin last summer.  Months later, Channing discovered this treasure trove in the main floor bedroom closet.  Before the first syllable of 'me want...' was out of his mouth, the bag was unzipped and the balls were dumped into the bath tub.  We spent the better part of an hour, laughing until our sides ached.  Even little, bitty Sophie got in on the action.  (Sorry for the poor quality of the cell phone pictures.)

There was the time we allowed Channing to stand on the dining room table while making his first batch of chocolate chip cookies.  WM & I supervised.  Flour bloomed in the air like clouds. Chocolate was melted in hot little hands.  More dough was eaten than was made into cookies.  Our cheeks ached from laughter rather than from the taste of sweet, sweet sugar.  

Today was no exception to the do rather than don't rule.  Do jump in the puddles.  Do get stuck in the mud.  Do throw rocks at the dirt pile.  Do shoot your mommy with the bubble gun.  Enjoy every second of it.  I am.   

I am drinking up these moments, filling my cup over and over again until it overflows with love and with laughter.