Smoky

Our next-door neighbors had a bonfire tonight.   Wait, that's not right, they had a fire pit; bonfire makes it sound huge and this was just a few logs and a lot of smoke.    We saw them just as they were getting started and my children ran out because they hadn't seen them in a while and we ended staying up well past the children's bedtime to socialize and roast marshmallows.

Somehow (it was my fault) we all started doing cartwheels and hand stands.   Or, rather, all of us did except Stephen, the father, who just smiled and laughed at us.   My son got into the action and did forward rolls, cartwheels and rudimentary hand stands and we all cheered.

My daughter went home first, getting tired of the smoke and the late hour.   My son and I came later, smelling heavily of smoke.   The children are in bed now, still smelling of smoke but tired from a full day.   I'm still in my fire pit clothes as I write this, smelling liked smoked ribs and cartwheels.

The Big Boy Update:  We got home from school and as we opened the door from the garage, the dog greeted us as she always does, doing a stretch/bow with her front paws.   My son said, "look, Lucy's doing yoga."

The Tiny Girl Chronicles:  We were riding on the highway a few days ago and my daughter said, "look, that car is sad."   The car in front of us had tail lights and trunk/body lines that did, indeed, make it look like a sad face.