Sunday, July 17, 2011

bubsy bubbles

Is this not the classic picture of summer fun?

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Blowing bubbles in the backyard on a sunny morning, wearing your dino PJs.

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Except I took these pictures back in April, but we were in San Diego, so it was like summer.

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There's something about bubbles. The concentration it takes to blow them.

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The wonder when it works.

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The exhilaration of watching them float away.

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Maybe we love it because we're able to create something that can fly, so it's like a little part of us sprouts wings.

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A momentary escape from our gravity-bound reality.

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We challenge ourselves to blow them as big as we can.

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Sometimes it works out.

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Sometimes it doesn't.

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Frustration sets in.

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This stupid blower doesn't work.

Did I mention my child uses the word stupid? At least he doesn't use $%^@, cause he's heard that one too. (I try to be good. Mostly.)

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Things get thrown.

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More like flung, really.

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Sometimes I call him bubsy bubbles. No reason, really. Just another silly Mama-given nickname.

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Just another summery, PJ-clad morning in the mothering zone, where exhilaration and frustration go hand in hand.

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