It was a "Big Day"

Days under 95 degrees in August in Texas are unheard of and are for the record books. With a million and one chores around the house, we decided that staying closed up inside the house was just not an option today. Elliott asked this morning if we could have a "Big Day." Repeated clarification attempts brought tears on his part, puzzled looks shared between Chris and me. . Finally, he explained he wanted to do something 'big' together as a family. So after nap, we headed out to the Fort Worth Zoo--one of the 10 best zoos in the nation. While we were hoping to see Baby Belle, the new baby Asian elephant, we saw enough in our two hours that made up for her absence. I was expected crowds, serious crowds, because any time in the past 10 years that I've been to the FW Zoo it's been crazy-crowded, but somehow fortune smiled upon us with little in the way of crowds and active animals. We followed up with an outing to Central Market for some live music, beer, foodie foods and friendship, as our friends Karen & Nathan & baby Ty-Mo joined us for some patio time.

Squint and you can see the rare white Bengal tiger in the background.  I saw the same tigers 10 years ago when they were cubs, held in the arms of zoo keepers.  The are stunning, but just easy prey in the wild.

Ostrich egg exploration.  The shell had been opened & inside cleaned out.  The thickness of the shell was several mm thick.  Totally fascinating.

Elliott's favorite part of the day was the bird atrium-thingy.  Full of parakeets & cockatiels, I spend the majority of my time waiting to get pooped on.  To each their own.

Brookie and the Sloth Bear.

That kangaroo was sacked. out.  Done.  

Python.  Yeah.  The kids loved the new Museum of Living Art, which replaced the old herpeterium.

Special K, just prior to losing his mind over being in the stroller for 2 hours.  Mainly I felt bad because all other zoo pics were of the big kids.  

Gelato.  

Hatch Chile Fest!

Big Days are good.  Glad that handsome boy convinced us to take the leap.

Poopy. Say It.

Elliott had a fab day yesterday and Saturday, but the attitude was back in full-force today. He was repeating "poopy" over and over on the way home. And over.  And over.  I counted him, he quickly earned a time-out and we had to get off the phone with Glammy (the tragedy!). He still didn't stop--kept egging on Brooklyn to say it. Say it.  

I got stern and showed him how irked I was--major mistake; he laughed (the little shit--pun intended). This makes my head spin around, so it was a good thing that I had the rest of the drive to calm down. Had we not been in the car I'm afraid I would've spanked him, which is not what we want to do as parents although I was second-guessing that decision. I  acknowledged I couldn't make him stop saying it and told him not to worry about his consequence in my best Love and Logic attempt at parenting. It gave me time to plot with Chris via text at red lights. Because he couldn't make good choices around his brother and sister, he had to eat by himself in his room and then go straight to bed. He was quite devastated for the moment, crying, screaming & bargaining.  In turns I felt sad for him and glee at finding a consequence that meant something (momentarily).  I'm often consulted at work for how to treat children with  more challenging behaviors, so I'm convinced that this child has been sent to me for lessons in becoming humble.  

We Went OUT, Y'all

I want to write.  I do.  I wish I had a good excuse for not writing, but mainly it's because we fired our house-cleaning service in exchange for a laundry service which requires far more work for me.

I have this new friend that I met at work.  Her husband is a drummer in a band as his second job.  For weeks she's been encouraging me (and others) to go see the band play at a bar last weekend.  A real bar.  Honestly, I didn't even tell my husband about it until the last minute because really, what the hell are we going to do at a real bar?  It made my 36.5 year-old heart all anxious and hand-flappy.
Turns out that when I casually threw out, "Oh Jenny wants us to go see the band..  .it's a country band (he doesn't like country music) and it's in the Stockyards.  The bar is named Filthy McNasty's.  Doesn't seem like our kind of thing. . .," he responded, "that sounds like fun!"

So we went.  Jenny assured me that I really did know what to do. . . I wasn't sure.  I mean, I stood, puzzled, at my closet for at least 5 minutes.  We went.  It was fun.  I forget how LOUD and smoky bars are. The smell of my hair awoke me in the wee hours of the morning.  The people watching!  Oh, the people watching!  I not so subtly videoed the cowboy glory.  You're welcome.  (And yes, this is for real, and no, not the norm in the whole city, only in specific areas and specific establishments.)