1. A happy family weekend spent just winging it. A breather from scheduled 'fun'.
2. Lunch outdoors in the sun with friends from work.
3. Successful inauguration of the potty (tho it looks like we might blow the diaper savings on potty bribes!)
Oyon-isms (new category):
1. Chasing a bee with a Dandelion bloom, yelling "Come drink your connector!"
2. On my whispering something to him in a restaurant, "You don't have to whisker Mamma, just use your indoor voice".
Forgone conclusions, aren't.
I firmly turned my back on sports as a child when my horrendous lack of coordination not only became evident but persisted beyond the rigorous efforts of PE teachers at school. Easier to reject than be rejected, especially at the age where your self-esteem is scrabbling for a foothold and being 'good' at things provides critical traction.
Two decades later in my 30s, those dispirited fogs of failure somehow rolled back just enough to make me first, re-mount a bicycle then, reach for a badminton racket. I should add that both efforts were significantly effected by the subtle coaxing of an athletic husband who was undoubtedly chafing under the domestic limitations thrust upon our weekends by my foregone conclusions. My low expectations and desire to have some fun helped also to reach the shocking revelation that our abilities can quietly grow and outpace both Time and the mental barriers we put before them.
There's still nothing of an athlete in me but I surprise myself by wobbling along on short bike rides without incident, playing through beginners badminton games and at last nights 'Beginners Tennis' lesson, hitting more than missing. And ENJOYING it all.
Foregone conclusion, are'nt.