Saturdays are Holidays

Saturdays are holidays

Last weekend Emma and I got a chance, and we celebrated. We celebrated not being sick – finally.
We celebrated not being being stuck at home and we celebrated not being stuck, well…doing anything.
An easy afternoon.

We toured some new parks, checked out a river, played in some flood-silt, watched some softball,
slode some slides, swang some swings, and generally enjoyed the weather.

Emma got her white dress dirty. In a phrase, that means she was having fun and TheDaddy wasn’t stopping her – from getting dirty.
There was no point, she couldn’t help herself and I wasn’t about to step in and try fruitlessly to hold some sort of cleanliness high ground.

You know, just because that steep hill chock full of day-old cut-grass clumps looked like hell to me?
Who am I; one man’s hell is his little girls haven.

So I watched – that time. I had developed a headache earlier – an indicator that I wasn’t exactly sitting idly by.
I think it was the game of chase on the Big Toy that started it.
Or maybe it was the oddly familiar, hot, slightly yellow…THING…in the sky which burneth thy bald head.

No point beyond that.
We found a little fun that day in a glorious, meaningless way – and I got some decent shots with my wee camera phone to prove it.