Well, we're here. This is the backyard. A raised deck surrounded by tropical fruit trees and native bushes. The kids are happy we are next to the park, because this is not a yard designed for children's play. We took everything from our storage in north St. Petersburg to our house. It took two trips and about five gallons of sweat. Keith Castleman, an environmental studies senior who will long be in my debt, helpd haul the roughly 7,000 pounds of random household goods. The boxes have been moved inside and mostly emptied. The kids are unpacked in their room. We went to our first ball game as a family yesterday only to watch the Red Sox blow a four run lead and then lose in the 10th. The home crowd was ecstatic. The kids enjoyed the circus atmosphere and sat through all 10 innings.
They went to see the tank of sting rays held in the centerfield bleachers, but the exhibit was closed for the afternoon. They decided to dance on the stage instead. Any chance to ham it up seems to thrill them these days. We have to tell them often to keep their voices down.
This is not because they do not have adequate play space at home, mind you. We gave them the master bedroom, put the bunkbeds near the door and have encouraged them to contain their toys to the back part of that room. There seems to be enough space for them to play separately and together and it has diminished (although it will never halt) the incessant flow of toys into the rest of the house. They like to pretend they are going on vacation, pack up suitcases, take things elsewhere and unpack them, which requires other rooms and will more than likely run against the grain of our wishes. But that's the trial of parenthood. Repeat, repeat, repeat, repeat, repeat, and repeat again.
When it cools down in the evening, which, contrary to popular myth, it has done now and again since we have arrived, we wander out to the park, Seminole Park, where Noah can pretend the jungle gym is a train and Maxim can jump from her swing high into the air. We kick around the soccer ball and talk about what to eat for dinner. The kids love to use the water fountain, although the water is not New England water in that it tastes every inch of the limestone calcine it has come from.
The night before last the sun went down and kissed the top of a storm cell, cumulus maximus, out on the distant horizon. What this landscape lacks in topography it makes up for in sky, as far as I can tell. Beauty. A fine welcome home.
Well, we're here. This is the backyard. A raised deck surrounded by tropical fruit trees and native bushes. The kids are happy we are next to the park, because this is not a yard designed for children's play. We took everything from our storage in north St. Petersburg to our house. It took two trips and about five gallons of sweat. Keith Castleman, an environmental studies senior who will long be in my debt, helpd haul the roughly 7,000 pounds of random household goods. The boxes have been moved inside and mostly emptied. The kids are unpacked in their room. We went to our first ball game as a family yesterday only to watch the Red Sox blow a four run lead and then lose in the 10th. The home crowd was ecstatic. The kids enjoyed the circus atmosphere and sat through all 10 innings.
They went to see the tank of sting rays held in the centerfield bleachers, but the exhibit was closed for the afternoon. They decided to dance on the stage instead. Any chance to ham it up seems to thrill them these days. We have to tell them often to keep their voices down.
This is not because they do not have adequate play space at home, mind you. We gave them the master bedroom, put the bunkbeds near the door and have encouraged them to contain their toys to the back part of that room. There seems to be enough space for them to play separately and together and it has diminished (although it will never halt) the incessant flow of toys into the rest of the house. They like to pretend they are going on vacation, pack up suitcases, take things elsewhere and unpack them, which requires other rooms and will more than likely run against the grain of our wishes. But that's the trial of parenthood. Repeat, repeat, repeat, repeat, repeat, and repeat again.
When it cools down in the evening, which, contrary to popular myth, it has done now and again since we have arrived, we wander out to the park, Seminole Park, where Noah can pretend the jungle gym is a train and Maxim can jump from her swing high into the air. We kick around the soccer ball and talk about what to eat for dinner. The kids love to use the water fountain, although the water is not New England water in that it tastes every inch of the limestone calcine it has come from.
The night before last the sun went down and kissed the top of a storm cell, cumulus maximus, out on the distant horizon. What this landscape lacks in topography it makes up for in sky, as far as I can tell. Beauty. A fine welcome home.
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