Happy Memorial Day!

Have a great day!

Here's my advice to you:

Get yourself a Mistah . . .

. . . have him rework and improve his iconoclastic and possibly genius Willie Wonka Rube Goldberg water feature . . .

 . . . sock in a *lot* of snacks and booze, do a bike ride, go to the beach, frolic in the Field, read in the shade, plant some flowers, listen to baseball on the radio, bask in this long-deserved, outrageously gorgeous weather . . .

. . . and have yourself a fabulous Monday off.

Fielding

The other day our friend Kat asked Rachel and Michelle, "Are you Fielding tomorrow?"

"Oh, we're Fielding."

Because really . . . 

. . . who doesn't like to Field? I'll tell you who does like to Field.
This kid. God, this kid.

I'd like to thank Kat for creating that verb . . .

. . . and for her man for escorting her . . .

. . . and, well, we Fielded . . .

. . . all weekend long.

I'd show you photos of all we did, but neither Mistah nor I can work our muscles or joints or limbs after trashing said muscles and joints and limbs Fielding this weekend, so I'll leave you with this . . .

It's a water feature.

Think Willie Wonka crossed with Beverly Hillbillies combined with A Beautiful Mind tossed in with Rube Goldberg and you're getting close.

It's called Fielding.

A Smattering

It was a big weekend.

I would show you all the amazing photos Mistah has taken of all the beautiful flora these last few days -- and I will -- but right now, I've got a Field to celebrate and a room to clean up and birthday detritus to pack up, so I'm going to share the lesser photos instead.

Except this one is not lesser. Because the Birthday Boy!
Happy Birthday, Mistah.

We had lots of beauty this weekend . . .

. . . hey, bars are beautiful too . . .

. . . see? . . .

. . . see? . . .

. . . SEE? . . .

The birthday boy had himself a great weekend; we celebrated righteously . . . 

. . . and relaxishly.

And we spent a lot of time thinking about this kid . . .

Jimmy at five months old. Can you even?

. . . and about this kid, who became a mumsie on Mother's Day 56 years ago . . .

. . . and about this kid, who is our family's living and breathing heart and soul.

Happy Mother's Day, Mom . . .

. . . Happy Birthday, Colleenie-Girl.

. . . and Happy Birthday, Mistah . . . 

Child Labor

We had a job to do. And we had neither the time nor the inclination nor the wherewithal to get it done.

But luckily, a labor force showed up . . .

. . . and thankfully, it was an entirely adorable labor force.

"Okay kids. This is what we need to do."

"We're going to mulch . . . "

"That's right . . . "

"Mulch!"

"And now? We rake."

"Well done, guys . . . "

" . . . and cute boots."

"Hey, there's no time for sitting around! There's work to do!"

"Okay, now I'll show you the next project . . . "

" . . . these paths through here could use some of your mulch magic."

"And we need them all done by this afternoon."

"Heave Ho!"

"Yes of course you can dance your way over there. Over there to work."

"And . . . mulch."

"And . . . rake. That's right. You've got it down now."

The taskmaster does not stop tasksmasting. Not for one second.

"Rake it, kid."

Okay. Time to inspect.

Time to evaluate just how good a job you've done . . .

"Hey, don't you sass me, saucy."

"Here's the thing . . . "

"You have done an amazing job! And we applaud your effort."

"And so now you get exactly one dollar bill each."

"We like to call that fair and equal pay."

"You are the richest children in America."

And so are we.