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pop

the culprit.
last evening was a ridiculous evening. 

john and i high-tailed home from work and school to rush to the store, to hurry home to fix dinner, and before long it was bedtime and john hated to go to bed and screamed and cried for 20 minutes.

meantime daddy was out slaving in the yard - and i do mean SLAVING, in the horrible heat - for 2.5 hours making the yard MOWABLE. thank god for that groupon lawn-mowing service we got, he didn't then have to go get the mower and do that too.

somewhere in between making and eating dinner (and going outside for an interlude of helping-daddy-pick-up-the-dog-poop), i was in my bedroom changing into shorts when i heard a strange popping sound. i hustled into my shorts and heard it again.

a little concerned - i know most of the sounds that john makes in the house that are NOT concerning - i rushed into the living room and found john discovering bubble wrap.

with glee in his eyes, he was pressing two fingers into each of the large bubbles, and giggling when he finally got it to pop.

the list of things i had to do was so long, i did what any self-respecting mother would do:

sat down on the floor and taught him how to pop them louder. and pop more of them. and jump on them for multiple pops.

oh, the simplest joys.

POP!
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