It's a well-known fact that I love St. Patrick's Day. No gifts + No real costumes = WIN!
The kids get their hair sprayed green and they're happy.
We have a parade locally, we go every year. This year however, dance class and Ryan's first soccer game threw a wrench in the works.
Long story short, we got there too late to get a good spot. We got a few square feet of sidewalk behind a dozen people with folding chairs none of which offered to let the kids in front of them until it was too late. Complaining ensued. After the 42nd fire truck we called it a day and went home. You can only listen to bagpipes for so long. Lesson learned. If you can't do it right, don't do it at all.
Sunday held a Pump It Up birthday party. A new experience for the five of us.
We started by watching a brief, yet cheesy safety video where the rules were laid out. "How many riders on the slide at one time?" In unison: "ONE!" So one rider on the slide at a time. Foreshadowing.
Door opens, 3 Suitcase Kids haul ass up the ladder and go down the slide at one time. Justin emerged with a bloody nose. Ryan's fault.
I have finally reached a point where my kids are a little bit bigger so they don't need constant supervision at a place like this. Luckily I was giving 1/3 of my attention to Ryan right at the point where I watched him actually spit in the bounce house. I saw it with my own two disbelieving eyes. I dragged his ass out and walked over to my purse where I handed him a reusable grocery bag and made him get back in and clean it up. No, I didn't have any tissues. Nasty little heathen.
But perhaps the high point of the day was watching my husband JakeRyan tell his old buddy Ian a story that according to him I "didn't want to hear." So instead of partaking in the conversation I stood back and snapped pictures.
Pretty animated. He loves Ian more than me.
And there...now you know what we did this weekend.