We lolled about on our blankets and teetering-over lawn chairs and talked about mortgages and dentists and retirement accounts (we're an exciting bunch) while the kids blew bubbles, rode trikes and bikes, bugged us, picked peas from the garden, and jumped over bushes they weren't supposed to jump over.
My older son hung out with the adults the entire time, but my older daughter disappeared into the car with a book. After a while I called her back over and gave her orders to “be sociable.” She complied for a bit, but soon sidled off to read again. Does this mean she's officially a bookworm? I think yes.
Just after sunset, we hurried home to do the first strawberry picking. I hulled the berries at the kitchen sink while the kids (and Papa!) played a made-up game of trampoline dodgeball in the early dark.
This same time, years previous: losing my footing, the quotidian (5.27.13), spicy cabbage, the quotidian (5.28.12), one dead mouse, the ways we play, just the tip, and rhubarb tea and rhubarb tart.