I have been less than faithful to my blog writing lately. And to all my devoted readers (mom), I'm sorry.
Spring has finally graced our corner of the world, and we have been spending so much time outdoors each evening. By the time we hose off the kids and sweep the piles of sand from their beds, I am without energy to put together sentences.
My kids seem to be the dirtiest kids I know. Perhaps it's because they are still so young. Or perhaps it's because I let them dig in the sand and dirt. Whatever it is, I have yet to see kids get as dirty as mine.
In fact, I have been trying to figure out how other kids stay so clean.
Are all the other kids strapped in strollers and wagons, only watching the dirt and sand?
For the last three nights, the sand and dirt on my kid's clothing has required intense soaking. And I'm pretty good at attacking stains, but mud has got to be the toughest.
Nonetheless, I noticed how clean my husband and I are not when we come into the house each evening. I wipe dirt on the back of my t-shirt, and usually have potting soil smeared on my legs. My husband has grass stains on his pants and dirt deep into his nail bed.
I guess the apples didn't fall far from the tree.
We love the outdoors, growing things, watching grass grow and flowers bloom. And we love all the dirt and mud and stains it takes to make that happen. I guess our kids do, too.
I wouldn't have it any other way.