Sunday Afternoons

I love, love, love lazy Sunday afternoons. The best things always happen when you don't have anything to do.

She does her own costuming and choreography

Still Catching Up: October

And this is where I really started getting behind. Between several rounds of strep throat in October and November that would eventually lead to Nora ditching her tonsils, and the usual fall-to-winter fun, there was no time left for much else. So, for nothing else than posterity's sake: October. Which looks like this in southern Utah:

Fall really is my favorite time of the year, if not for the magically-turned red and yellow mountains, then for the small-town festivities that keep you outside to soak in the last of the season's sunshine.

Like the apple festival.

On the phone with an out-of-town husband on the way to said apple festival, I agreed that bobbing for apples would be a bad idea (I'd never done it, but it seemed like a germy endeavor, and we had already marked round one of strep in the Burt home), but then we got there, and the live music and fresh pressed cider, warmer then expected sunshine, begging kids and sense of tradition all won me over.

She just wanted to go straight to the apple barrel, but Porter was thoroughly awestruck with the volunteer firefighters and jumped at the chance to go through the official obstacle course that led to said apple bobbing.

  

The older he gets, the more I cherish the little moments that remind me he's still just a little guy, drowning in grown-up clothes and make-believe.

For a few weeks after this, he was sure he wanted to be a firefighter when he grew up. But most recently, after helping me grocery shop yesterday, he is now determined to work in a deli and run the meat slicer. "You know," he explained, "because I really like ham, and I could chop up all the ham I want and then go get some cookies from the bakery." He smiled when he added, "Because when you're a grown-up, you can do whatever you want."

And here I am as a grown-up who has still never been bobbing for apples herself, wishing I was still a kid.

This boy fills up my whole heart with his cautious, caring ways and his quiet imagination. He has a million big ideas but you wont hear about most of them in advance. He'll just quietly sneak away to his room and work without stopping until he's figured things out, proud to display his latest imaginings when they're complete.

One of my favorite Porter creations to date:

I am not a big fan of clutter, but I find our house looks more and more scattered the older this one gets, simply because he builds and draws more than we have space to display. Halloween was no exception.

The Halloween mural stayed taped to the living room wall until a week before Thanksgiving. I had hoped to laminate it and hang it up every year, but a curious little sister got to it first.

The apple festival was just the beginning of a really great October.

We visited farms-turned-amusement parks...

That's dried corn kernels at the bottom of a giant pipe turned slide. The corn slide was a first for this city gal.

I had also never seen a jumping pillow before this fall, but I now dream of filling our backyard with one.

We trolled around three different pumpkin patches this year, in search of jack-o-lantern perfection.

Every year, after rows and rows of slightly soggy overpriced pumpkins, hot, dusty kids, and at least one skinned knee, I swear we will just buy from the grocery store the next year. But then autumn hits, and my festive heart steamrolls common sense.

A year from now I'll only remember the happy little girl who found the perfect green pumpkin and then wanted to paint it pink, not the half-crazed 45 minutes spent juggling an armload of pumpkins and a whining three-year-old who refused to walk one more step in the prickly weeds while kick-rolling Porter's giant pumpkin pick as I back-tracked from one dusty ditch to the next in search of the $50 bill that slipped out of my back pocket.

This was, of course, all very humorous to a husband who was traveling at the time and only heard about our failed farm escapades by phone. And after all that, neither of our kids wanted much to do with the actual pumpkin carving at all.

We bribed him with candy to stick his hand in there. This was his first and last scoop.

Other fall adventures:

We cheered on a parade of sheep and farm equipment in the annual sheep parade that every year leaves me amazed and grateful that this big city girl ended up happily at home in this sleepy little town.

We decorated sugar cookies with neighbors in a throwback to my own youth, my favorite part of my mom's infamous Halloween parties...

Porter's "alien zombie"

Nora's sprinkles with cookie

 And topped things off with trick or treating, of course...

 The older they get, the less likely I will ever get them to sit still for a picture. Unless, of course, I can talk their friends into joining them.

Great Halloween, great autumn, great memories. Lucky us.

Andy was back at home handing out candy.

The Do-nevers

Nora says "do never," as in "I do never want to be a swimmer because there are too many sharks," or "Mommy, do never ever do my hair ever again," and, of course, "I do never ever want to kiss a boy." I love it, especially because the do-nevers are almost always things she will inevitably love to do one day.

Turns out I thought I did never want to blog again because I am a quarter of a year behind. But here I now sit, ready to slog through. Pretty sure I've lost all readership, which is fine. But I recently tackled another do-never....family photo books (ok, just 2008 and 2009), and it would have been a much bigger project had I not kept a running account of life in Burtlandia. So without further ado, one of those missing months, in moments...

September

A quick trip to Park City to ride the Alpine Slide (and buy school clothes and complete Andy's six-month Lasik follow-up).

Note the nervous little half-smile. I don't know who was more nervous to have that tiny, wiggly girl high up on a ski lift—the little one who kept saying "This sure is high off the ground, isn't it Poy-da?" the mom who refused to be responsible for said wiggly body, or the daddy who kept both hands on her the entire time.

In the spirit of new kinds of summer fun (Nora had never been on the Alpine Slide), we also rounded up the cousins and Grandma for the kids' first round of putt putt (remember, we live in a small town = no mini golf).

 

September also brought a few trips to our own, closer mountains down south, complete with the requisite KFC  picnic with pals. Unfortunately, what was sweltering and sunny in the valley's daytime quickly turned into a freak summertime 40-degree cold snap that left us all feeling very cold and under-prepared for not just the picnic, but the night star presentation at the state park just down the road. Fortunately, we were with the kind of close friends who don't mind sharing and cuddling in warmth's sake.

Aaaand, it was too cold to take many more pictures than that, but there was a fire, thanks to loads of lighter fluid on wet twigs, and s'mores, etc.

Up next: another trip back to Grandma's house for playtime with cousins and big city shopping, just because we needed a break from the new school year routine that is still a drag to get used to just two years into life with a principal husband and school-aged kiddo. (Actually, I am pretty sure there was a reason I braved the three-hour drive solo with my two are-we-there-yet kids, but I can't remember what it could have been now, months and months later—I'm sure it was a really good reason, though, because I do remember his teacher's concern over dayS of missed school so early on.)

Just look at Porter's face—doesn't that look like fun worth ditching school for? Turns out a group of little people holding wiggly babies do not enjoy having their pictures taken.

Much better.

This one loves babies, but only the real kind. She got a Cabbage Patch doll for Christmas that I was sure would turn that all around—not even a little interested. Fortunately, there are cousins who seem to have much more patient temperaments than our own girlie did, even then.

Meet cousin Millie. She got her mama's eyes, lucky girl.

After settling into the school year as a FIRST GRADER, this boy grew up all at once.

He suddenly schemes new ways to get money (though he never spends any of it).

The rock shop made a whopping 68 cents after I knocked on our pre-teen neighbor's door with a handful of coins and begged him to come buy the rocks my son had just pilfered out of his and all the rest of our neighbors' yards.

He spells.

And he does weird things in public that only make sense to a 61/2-year-old boy.

On our first day of school ice cream date. He swore he was comfortable and just needed to relax after being in school ALL DAY LONG.

And speaking of back to school, we celebrated SUU's homecoming in grand fashion, with football and parades and a late-night dance party at an outdoor summer family-friendly concert. If you're not parenting in a small college town, you should be. Oodles of free fun, loads of safe, clean space to run and explore, and the added benefit of kids who talk about college like it's a given—this really cool place they'll get to one day go.

Throw in a bumper raspberry crop—the only successful plant this year in our little backyard garden, and some Playdoh and painting on days that were just too hot to go outside (now, in February, I'm wondering what we were thinking to waste perfectly good outside time), and that about wraps up September.








One do-never down, four more months to go.