In believing that the journey is just as important as the destination, especially when it comes to family road trips, I put on my big girl pants and tried to make the most of our stops on both our way to and from Breckenridge during our little vacay last week. 

Meaning, we played a lot of red light, green light each time we stopped in an effort to get the bigs to stretch their legs as much as they could in as little time possible to keep the our wheels moving down the road (sometimes also referred to as the submarine {suburban} or our new monster truck race car by the kids. I think the latter makes sense, depending on whose driving.) 

When we decided to leave a day earlier than we had planned and split up the drive to Breck, we didn't see the plague about to hit our house. Or Hand Foot and Mouth disease, to be exact. 

Nelle contracted it from who knows where and had it on the 4th of July, Henry got it a few days later, and Andrew was miserable as we headed west towards the mountains. He wasn't allowed to touch anyone or anything, so I packed us, loaded us, he drove, and when we stopped for breaks, all three of the kids and I packed into a tiny gas station stall and somehow didn't pick up other diseases as they touched everyyyyyything, and I simultaneously held June, hoisted Nelle onto the toilet, buttoned buttons, etc. 

And why yes! This WAS as easy as you are imagining.

So, here we were waiting on dinner, and the kids could have spent hours throwing rocks into these puddles because to them, they had found a pond, and there may have been fish in them, they weren't actually throwing rocks at all, but feeding the fish, just as we weren't behind Subway in Goodland at all either, but rather in exactly the right place they needed to burn off their energy and pretend and be able to answer yes when they asked, "are we on vacation now?" just as they did immediately as we backed out of our driveway.

Yes, yes. 

Even a deserted lot in Goodland, Kansas is part of vacation if you let it be.

More to come...

If there are awards given out at the end of t-ball seasons, Henry miiiight not win MVP (although Andrew would give it to him because...sons), 

but he'd be probably win the most-likely-to-stand-in-front-of-his-teammates-

so-he-can-get-the-ball because in classic Henry form,
he wants to be where the action is.  Every time.

He'd also be a contender for the most-likely-to-draw-his-own-line-in-the-dirt-award after his coach drew one for him to show him where to stand.

I suppose this is better than winning the most-likely-to-play-in-the-dirt-award?  

Bathroom break.

As with most things in our life right now, t-ball season has been a family affair, and the girls have enjoyed it seemingly as much as Henry did.  So, I feel it's only fair to hand out awards to them too.

Thankfully she didn't win at jersey chasing.

Henry's team always started the games by throwing their arms in the air and yelling, "we're going to have fun!".

And I think they did.

Between the herding technique of chasing after the ball when it rolled into the outfield, other times screaming in unison as they charged towards it after it barely left the swinging bat, and snacks.  Snacks!  Of course they had fun.  

It was a good morning, and we sure needed that.

One of these days, I'm going to figure out the right gear to throw in my parenting tackle box, and we'll get a few of these good mornings and good afternoons turned into an entire good day, and there will be more jumping for joy.  

Henry has successfully mastered riding his bike without training wheels AND without having to rely on me for a push to get him rolling so Franklin is now allowed back on our daily walks with us.  It was touch and go for a while because pushing a double jogger, while holding onto the dog's leash/pulling him back beside the stroller instead of letting him stop to pee on every tree we pass, and then stop, park the stroller, pull Frank with me, give Henry a push, repeat, repeat, repeat was even more of a side show than we already typically are.

(In response to the couple that saw us this morning and exclaimed, "you've got the whole crew today!", I responded with, "yes...we are basically a parade these days," because #yesivegotmyhandsfull and #yesimbusy and #wetakeuptheentirestreet and all of those other things that we hear anytime we go out in public on all the days.)

Back to the story...

 

So, on Tuesday, we walked before lunchtime and were headed back home when we stopped to talk to our neighbor.  And Henry exclaimed/yelled (because that's how he always talks), "I'm four!!" because he is as of Saturday, and four was a BIG DEAL and anyone who has come in contact with him since is now in the know of his age.

We're chatting, and Franklin keeps trying to weasel his way over to the curb 

so he can wallow in the puddles leftover 

from the monsoon Wichita experienced last week, 

and I keep pulling him back towards me and the stroller, and he keeps pulling away, 

and finally he wins and flops into the water 

and immediately sprawls out to cool down his big belly.  

And I sigh and say, 

"He's almost seven!  You would think he'd quit doing stuff like this, 

but I think he does it to spite me 

because he doesn't get as much attention as he used to."  

Not missing a beat, Henry pipes in...

"Mommy...?"

"...are you talking about Daddy?"

 

 

The transition last week from school to summer was a bit touch and go, and I sure know better than to say anything out loud about my kids because as soon as I do the opposite happens, but since then, summer's been pretty, pretty good with Ham.