Ben had a whole weekend full of those things. Darned if I can remember them now...
But first, I have to back way up. Because I love for you to have as many details as possible, thereby making even the shortest stories long. There's no such thing as "long story short" on this blog. No sir or ma'am.
You see, we're building a playground in our backyard. To call it a playset or swingset would be a misnomer. It was inspired by this:
What this means is that my industrious husband spent lots of time ciphering with a calculator and spreadsheets, planning out each detail so that we could bring this to our backyard.
Then he rented a truck and hauled a couple of tons of lumber to our driveway.
(I can't tell a lie, we could stop the project right now and I'd be okay with it. Just because I got to see Sam drive that gigantic truck.) Over the next few days, my dad and Ben carried that wood to the backyard. (Thanks guys! And hey, I helped...a little. I carried six whole 10-foot 4x4's. Then it got dark, so I quit.)
Then the construction started. And it appears that we could just build an empty shell of a playground and it would be as much fun for the kids.
As Sam, my dad, and I worked as a team to fasten the pieces together with giant lag bolts, Ben watched with excited anticipation. It was a process that involved three different drill bits, one of which was a socket bit to get the bolt into the wood. The drill Sam used to do the latter was a corded drill. It is so powerful that I am actually scared to use it. When the bolt makes it all the way into the wood, the drill keeps going, even after the bit won't turn anymore. It was jerking my dad's and Sam's arms all over the place. I'm not confident enough in my wrist strength to be able to resist it's torquing power. I voiced this out loud to Sam and my dad. "My wrists just aren't very strong. I'm scared to use that drill."
And that's when Ben chimed in. With a chortle as he sat on his duff drinking some sweet tea in the shade, he said, "Heh. That's because boys are stronger."
Really, Ben? I had no idea chauvinism was instinctual. Or do they teach small boys these things in school? He's lucky I'm not one of those women, or he'd have gotten a swift kick in the you-know-where. Instead, I couldn't do much but chuckle myself. The irony of him saying something like that while sitting on his duff drinking sweet tea in the shade was too much.
On Easter Sunday, we took a break from playground construction to do more Easter-y things, like celebrate Jesus's victory over death at church. We even got a pretty good shot of all three kids all dressed up in their Easter finest.
Then, we did those other things, like decorate bunny cakes and hunt for eggs. When the front yard egg hunt was over, Sam checked out some sidewalk chalk that the kids had done with Grandmom the day before. Upon noticing this one, Ben made the comment that "Abby draws potato people."
If there's a more appropriate name for that little dude, let me know. Personally, I think Ben nailed it. There you have it. Potato people.
In an effort to make this "short story" no longer than it already is, I'll wrap this up. I hope everyone had a wonderful weekend and even better Easter. May we all take time to remember that it is about more than bunnies, cute little girl hats, and egg hunts. It's about the greatest gift that you and I have ever been given.
For God so loved the world, that He gave His only begotten Son, that whoever believes in Him should not perish, but have eternal life. For God did not send the Son into the world to judge the world, but that the world should be saved through Him. John 3:16-17