A less than perfect day

Shit is going down around here. I don't really want to talk about it. Except to say that I know it's all going to be okay. And that some days, you have to take your kids to play mini-golf. And let them get ice cream. And buy them new baseball cleats. Because you love them. And life is fucking short.
And then you can come home and admire your glorious forsythia.


Please excuse the weird focusing, it was very windy today.

And then listen to what Roosty has to say today. He's very wise, you know.

So true, Roosty. Couldn't have said it better myself.

Rain, rain, come and stay, go away another day

It wasn't a new experience, per se, but it's been so long that it felt new. Yesterday I was reacquainted with rain. And not just the annoying sprinkling, make-you-feel-more-sweaty kind of rain. Honest to goodness, thunder booming, overflowing the gutters, pouring down rain. Cats and dogs rain. This kind of rain:

It was all too much for Roosty, our pacifist rooster, who likes to hang out near the house, away from Major Deadly, the mean rooster, to likes to be mean.



Come on, Roosty! Get out of the rain! Don't you have a shred of self-preservation left?



There, that's better.

Anyway, it was all so exciting and delicious and refreshing, after weeks of no rain, that I found myself out there in it, laughing and taking pictures like a fool. But I learned something very important. Something I will take with me to my grave:
On a stormy summer day, it is much better to go out and splash in puddles, than to stay in with a thunder-shy dog wrapped around your feet. Especially when that dog happened to ingest a ridiculous amount of pork grease the day before, and is making you gag with his dog-ass stank.