Lost in Fun

I can tell by the clink clank sound and the burnt dust smell that the furnace felt it was finally time. The cold air trespassed last night, and the radiators of justice took the hoodlum air captive and scalded it into submission. We woke only after the skirmish was over to the clink clank announcement: All is well. All is warm.

But for the better part of yesterday it was warm enough outside to wander jackletless, to open the sun roof so wide we offered refugee leaves a home in the console.

And so it was the perfect day for getting caught up in a corn maize. Larry had to work, meaning I was on my own and a bit nervous we might get lost in more than fun. But we made it through the lobster labyrinth (yes an "under the sea" theme this year!) without incident, thanks in part to the overused but undoubtedly true marketing claim that "there's an app for that."
We survived the corn maize with plenty of time to tackle the slides and swings, the pyramid of tires, the wooden tractor and cow train rides. As usual, I went camera crazy in hopes of catching smiles to prove they had a happy childhood, which I know will come in handy when they are sixteen and certain I have ruined their lives.

I'm not sure this accidentally artsy one will be admissable into evidence, since you can't really be sure it's Caed up there.
And this one, though it's clearly Caed and a look that nearly defines him, might not be strong enough to make the case for a happy childhood.
Aha! This one should do it.
And here is proof that I was there too, the primary perpetrator of childhood fun.

Dani diligently practiced her wistful look, also known as her "I wouldn't look at the camera and smile even if you paid me in candy corn" look.
But just wait, Dani. I'll catch you having fun. See--there you are--hands in the air shouting "PUMPKINS!" Nothing makes you happier than a penalty-free opportunity to shout at the top of your lungs.
I am Dani; hear me roar. And see me try to pick up my weight's worth in pumpkin. There, that's more her size.
On the way home, we sang rowdy songs to make sure Dani stayed awake. And in between numbers, I stole a few fistfuls of the kettle corn we'd purchased for Daddy. But Caed caught me corn-handed and admonished, "You better stop eating that, or there won't be any left for Daddy." Oh Caed. You exaggerate. Of course I'll save a kernel or two for Daddy. I couldn't possibly eat the WHOLE bag!

We made it home awake and in one piece, with sufficient amounts of kettle corn left in the bag thanks to Caed's vigilance.

Sometimes we have a day when nothing goes wrong, and everything works out easy peasey, and there are far more smiles than tears, and very few scrapes. Sometimes we have a day when the air tastes like apples and little voices squeal while little legs navigate a life-sized puzzle. And we label those days the same as kettle corn and cider donuts: A special treat. A very special treat.

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