The Super Late Fathers Day Post

And just in time for Independence Day.  Walt and I loaded up the aforementioned and brand spankin' new (to us) Murano last weekend for a belated Fathers Day trip to Nashville to do guy things with Putty.  And what better guy thing is there than a giant, outdoor aircraft exhibit on a real live military base, Ft. Campbell, Kentucky.

Walt probably thought he had died and gone to heaven.

I think Putty had just told Walt about the thrill of standing on one of these skids as the helicopter takes off.  Walt's mother would not approve of this type of behavior.

We looked for a miniature version of this sign in the gift shop.  I was going to put it on Walt's door.

For additional guy time, we went to a Nashville Sounds game.  We had great seats just behind home plate.  Daddy's a big spender when it comes to minor league baseball games.

Our seats allowed Walt unprecedented access to the ins and outs of the game, which he took to surprisingly fast.  It didn't take him long to start yelling along with me, "Hit the ball, Mike."  Mike became his favorite player and every time the PA announcer would introduce Mike, Walt would give  him a hearty, "Hit the ball, Mike."  The same for Joe, one of Walt's favorite names.  He also became fond of screaming "You're out" immediately after the frequent strike outs and ground outs.  (It was a pitchers' duel for a while.)  I was very thankful that the big net was between my two year old and the somewhat disappointed and frustrated aspiring major leaguers.   Because they could certainly hear him.

On a related note: upon our return home this week, we were playing a little baseball in the backyard Monday night.  Walt has a tee and a several balls and bats.  We set it all up and he assumed his rather amusing batting stance, but he didn't swing right away.  He looked at me and said, "You're the blue man."  I said, "I'm the what?"  "You're the blue man, Daddy."  Hmmmm.  "Oh," I said, "you mean the umpire."  (We'd never talked about this at the game, but I guess he noticed that the guy in blue squatting right in front of him played an integral role in the game.)  He said, "Yes, the pirate.  You're the pirate."   You gotta admit, the two words do sound alike, but the immediate images of umpires with eye patches and parrots on their shoulders got the best of me.  I lost it.  And, of course, I began punctuating my "Strike" calls with a mighty, "Rrrrrrrr" of my own.  We've since fused the two words, and the "blue man" is now the "umpirate."  It shall be so for some time to come I think.

And this photo I took just to antagonize his mother.

The Girls of Hallwood

Wow, that kinda sounds like the title for something you wouldn't want to watch with your parents, huh?  Well, not to fear -- this post is entirely G-rated.  "Hallwood" is what we affectionately call the house I (Ginger) lived in during our senior year at Rhodes with three of my best friends.  If one were to try to find this particular house, all one would need to do would be to go to that particular street and drive down it until you find the ugliest house.  While you, who have never visited the abode in question, may think that there could be some room for error in these directions, you would be wrong.  There is no mistaking this house.  It's actually quite a nice street.  In fact, I believe there were a few Rhodes professors who also called it home.  Ours was probably the only rental on the block, and for good reason . . . the style of the house,  I think, is known as "Early Hideous".  But for our senior year, it was home . . . astroturf carpet, unfurnished front rooms, heaviest couch on the planet, and all.  And these were the girls who lived there . . .

This picture was taken on the occasion of Allison (far right) visiting from Birmingham, with husband Shane and daughters Salem and Tess in tow.  Salem and Tess would be the only two in the following picture with long hair (though Walt is quickly gaining on them, what with his father's refusal to take the poor child for a haircut). 

The gathering that resulted was a bit reminiscent of, oh, I don't know . . . Animal House if had taken place in preschool instead of college.  There were blocks and puzzles all over the floor, sprinklers sprinkling in the backyard, steamed veggies in the chairs, and a passed out puppy (I slipped Evie a mickey before everyone arrived) in the corner.  But it was fun and very cool to all be back under the same roof (especially since it is a much more attractive roof than in the good 'ol days).

I Just Flew in From Albuquerque and Boy, Are My Arms Tired

Editor's Note:  For those of you who visited this post before 11 a.m. on Tuesday, a new lake photo has been added -- try to control your excitement.

Okay, so maybe we didn't quite make it to New Mexico.  And, no, we haven't flown anywhere since we got back from Portland, but we have definitely covered some ground over the past week and we are  plum tuckered out.

But let's back up, because we have had two particularly fun weekends in a row, and since I only have pictures of the first, I probably should start there . . .

A week ago Saturday, we awoke to a jam-packed calendar, all of it promising to be fun.  We started the day off with a trip out to Collierville to watch our favorite softball player, Nina Dever (Josh's first cousin), in action.    While Walt was impressed with Nina's skills on the field, it was her attention to him after the game was over that won her a place in his heart.

After lunch and a nap, we took off down the street for the next installment in what is quickly becoming our favorite fair-weather activity . . . Rock 'n Romp!  This particular show was being held about a block away from our house, in a small, but lovely backyard.  Memphis-based Giant Bear rocked the 'hood.

Walt boogied barefoot while Meredith ate bubbles.  What kind of hippy children are we raising?

Of course, all that partying worked up a sweat, so we stopped by Rhodes for a quick dip in the pool (and were joined by the Bushes for the twins' first swimming foray!) before heading over to the Lareaus for a toddler-infested cookout. 

Walt's attempt at swiping Mere's snazzy pink tricycle while she was distracted by the watermelon did not go unnoticed.  Yes, Gram, I think we will have to invest in a trike for the lad.

So that was Saturday . . . yes, all of that happened in one day.  We were worn out by bedtime, but in a softball-watching, booty-shaking, jumping-in-the-pool, hot dog-eating kind of way.  You know the good kind of tired.

Then last week, we  finally got a buyer for our car, so we found one we wanted to buy (a Nissan Murano), left Wednesday after work to drive to Monroe, Louisiana (4.5 hrs. away) to pick it up, drove back on Thursday, arriving home at 6 p.m. to wash clothes, cook food, and pack again to leave to go to the lake the next day with the Mills and Normans.  Then I was just tired.  And apparently forgetful, because I neglected to pack the camera for our lake weekend.  But Beth has come through for us and provided this great picture of the daddies and kids playing in the water.

 

Suffice it to say that our kid L-O-V-E loves the water.  He spent the whole time we were on the lake jumping off the front of the boat to our waiting arms, then pushing away from us to get back to the ladder and do it again.  He was also enthralled with the big boys' dives and cannonballs off the boat, meeting their efforts to impress with enthusiastic "Do it again!  Do it again!"s.  When he wasn't practicing for his 2028 Summer Olympics debut, Walt was having foot races with Clara (four days his senior) through the house, or entertaining the extremely good-natured young Henry (who fortunately survived the experience).   We  even "made a memory" (to paraphrase our friend Allison) when we were caught in a freak downpour on the lake while the boat engine sputtered.  It was a great weekend and we returned home happy and tired.  Again.  Quite frankly, I can't think of a better feeling.

Finally, Walt and I want to wish a belated Happy Father's Day to all of our favorite dads out there reading Walt's World.  Without you, we wouldn't have anyone to help us . . .

hunt for Easter eggs . . .

read bedtime stories . . .

or . . . well, you get the picture.

Thanks, Dads -- we love you!

Sandman

After reading back over the last few posts, I realize that the management of Walt's World has committed a tremendous faux pas.  We promised a post about Walt's long-awaited birthday gift but did not deliver.  I'm sure that some of you have lost untold quantities of sleep in your anticipation, and for that, I am truly, truly sorry.  Those responsible have been duly reprimanded.  I will now try to make up for it by including lots of pictures which (you may have noticed) the last few entries have been lacking . . . but first, the story.

So the long-awaited birthday gift in question was supposed to have been a tricycle.  Walt had been eying one that another kid at the park had for awhile so, being my father's daughter, I did all the necessary research, found the perfect trike and ordered it from Target.com a few weeks before his birthday (you know, in JANUARY).  Because that was soooo long ago, I've forgotten all the gory details, but the dream of the perfect tricycle died with a final email sometime in April saying that hell would freeze over shortly before our tricycle arrived (oh, and that they appreciate my business).  Order canceled.

When I ordered the trike, which had a handy parental push bar in the back for lazy kids, I pictured Walt and I taking leisurely strolls around the neighborhood and down to the park in perfect 72-degree weather.  But now it's May (or it was when all this happened  -- work with me) and it's getting hot.  Suddenly those walks are looking a little less pleasant and little more . . . well, sweaty.  And that's when the splashy Target flier arrived in the mail with a picture of an adorable tot playing happily in his adorable sandbox.  Sandbox!  I won't have to walk around at all!  In fact, I can sit in a chair in the shade, sipping lemonade and reading a magazine!  Perfect!  (Curses on Target . . . they always find a way to get my money one way or another.)

What I forgot is that sandboxes have one major drawback . . . sand.  Despite our best efforts to keep it out of the house (special sandbox-only shoes, thorough brush-downs before coming inside, etc.), our floors now have a distinct grittiness to them.  As Josh says, it's all of the negatives of the beach with none of the positives!  (You can always count on him to look on the bright side.)  Oh well, Walt loves it, and I guess that's what's important.  I guess.  Here's what you came for . . .

Please note that each of those 50-pound bags of sand you see was LOVINGLY wrestled into the cart at Home Depot by Mommy.  You know, the cart that has the race car attachment for the kiddies and is already impossible to drive?  Just imagine it loaded down with 400 pounds of sand and 30 pounds of kid.  We were a force to be reckoned with, let me tell you.

Walt "helping" with the construction of the sandbox.

The finished product!  (Grumpy Daddy predicts that the cute awning will soon be sprouting mold, the spoil sport.)

Testing it out with two of the old faithful trucks.  (Note that this picture was taken before the sandbox-only shoe rule was instituted.  The fancy blue shoes Daddy bought on the Internet are no longer allowed in.)

A satisfied customer.

This pained expression is the one that Josh usually wears when Walt is playing in the sandbox.  Josh, being his parents' son, likes things to be clean.  And we basically just gave Walt a big box of dirt and told him to go nuts.  Which he does.  I had to go inside for two minutes the other evening to check something in the kitchen.  When I came back (I swear it was only two minutes), there was a ring of sand in a two-foot circumference around the sandbox and Walt was sitting in the middle, completely covered in sand, looking a bit bewildered. 

"I froed it!"

Yes you did, Sweetheart.  Happy birthday.

Overheard 6/3/07

I know we're going backward, but there was this exchange yesterday while Walt and I were sitting on the sofa watching "golf ball" and having our after-nap snack.

Walty:  You want a Goldfish Daddy?
Daddy:  Yeah.  That'd be nice.

Walty:  What do you say?  (No time for response)  You say, "Can I have a goldfish, please."
Daddy:  Can I have a goldfish, please?
Walty:  You can.  Here you go.
Daddy:  (Eats goldfish)
Walty:  What do you say, Daddy?  (No time for response)  You say, "Thank you."

Daddy:  Thank you.
Walty:  You're welcome, Daddy.

Repeat five times.  I finally realized that I didn't want Goldfish crackers that badly.

Overheard 6/4/2007

"Walt, it's time to go to school -- tell Evie goodbye."

"Bye, Evie!  I'll see you on Wednesday!"

(Note, today is Monday and we have no travel plans that will preclude us from seeing her for two days.  Walt just picks a random day and says he'll see you then.)

Vacation for Mommy and Daddy . . . or for Walt

What wonderful parents I have.  Mommy and Daddy let me have five full days with my grandparents, and I got to do lots of fun things.  Gram and Nana were nice enough to help me show you what all I got to do on my vacation.  I had lots of fun with Gram and DeeDaddy, and then I went to the zoo with Nana and Putty, where I got to see the elephants  . . .

. . . and the fishes.

And I got to play with my new "Red Car".

And go swimming with Putty while wearing my "gobbles" to keep from splashing water in my eyes.

And finally I got to work one of the puzzles at Cracker Barrel.  Nana and Putty insisted the puzzle was suppose to have an extra hole, but I showed them what a complete puzzle looks like.