A Boy and His Weed Whacker

Ryan loves the back yard. Loves going up up up up the small ramp up to the garden shed, leaning back against the doors, and directing me to entertain him. Like throwing Bailey the ball. Or to "go get it" when it rolls down the hill. Loves to shuffle through the million and a half leaves. Loves his sandbox. Loves to go into the tool room and request a "hamma" to go tap tap tap on the ground, any piece of wood, a dog....
Doesn't love the lawn mower. When it's on.
But we tried the weed whacker on Saturday. RrrrRRRRRRR!
"Off?" says Ryan.
So we had to let him squeeze the trigger a few times. Get the hang of it. So he can earn his allowance next summer.

Ryan is still getting over his nasty cold, and skipping his nap on Saturday (actually, "bouncing" would be a better verb) probably didn't help. He was good and snackered by 7pm, so even though the rest of the western world got an extra hour of sleep, moving the clocks back only meant that he woke up at 6:15 Sunday morning.

Which was fine because we had a house to clean. Ainsley hosted a "Tastefully Simple" party so the proceeds could go to La Leche League (a.k.a. "Ma-Mas for Ta-Tas"). It was held during a Redskins game, so that shows how passionate Ainsley is about the organization. She was lamenting the fact that only a few ladies came over to sample the wares, but that just meant there were more leftovers for Ryan and me.

We also used part of the weekend maneuvering the furniture in the guest room-cum-nursery, which meant finding a home for a headboard and footboard, which meant moving everything around in the storeroom, which meant that we bought too small a house. Because we have precisely the correct amount of crap.