It was a lovely day yesterday. A perfect day to be outside. I was babysitting five little boys who also thought it was a splendid day to be out-of-doors.
I took the two youngest out on the driveway to ride bikes, while the remaining, older ones did history. It was windy outside and the trees were dropping their various flowers.
The two year old soon found that it was great fun to throw sticks, leaves, dirt, and grass on me. This game went on for quite a while, with me making the appropriate noises in response to being covered in various turf.
Pretty soon the three oldest finished their history and came out to join us. The soon-to-be-six year old climbed up on my shoulders and pulled out my ponytail and wreaked havoc on my hair. The nine year old decided that the garage needed to be cleaned out, he began with a broom, but soon found that to be too slow, so the blower came out. He blew out the garage and began working his way down the driveway. An opportunity soon presented itself to him, here was Corinne, a sitting duck, at the end of the driveway. Before I knew what was happening, everything that had been on the driveway was in my hair, down my shirt, and in my pockets. I doubt I have ever looked as disheveled as I did then.
I turned my pockets inside out, removed as much dirt as I could from my shirt, put my hair back into its former ponytail and went inside to do school with the kids. I was still picking oak catkins out of hair hours later.
I found the whole thing to be quite humourous. I never got mad, I guess I just expect that sort of thing to happen to me when I go over there.
Later that evening as I was brushing my teeth in preparation for RUF, Justine looked at my messy ponytail (and same clothes from my afternoon with the boys) and said in all seriousness, you aren't wearing your hair like that are you? My response was to take a few pieces of hair hanging in my face, put them back into my ponytail, slide a bobby pin in and say, why not?