Who is a fool?

I have a beautiful water fountain on our porch. We made it years ago and collect tiny seashells, sea glass and pretty stones to put in to it. We spend time arranging the pebbles and shells to make it trickle and glimmer just right.

My son loves this fountain and every morning I turn it on for him and he spends long hours playing with it and making his dinosaurs dive into it's chilly depths or blowing bubbles next to it. Honestly I should have seen it coming and in hindsight I am surprised it did not happen sooner!

Today he had another thought...

...he poured his bubbles into the fountain!

"Very cool!", I tell him,"But let's not do that again." 

Then after awhile I empty it out and put clean water in. My son looked sad! My son tells me I am no fun!

I go to work in the garden. OK, who is the fool here?....

...he poured more bubbles in, a LOT more!

It grows and grows. It actually blows in the wind like a curtain.

"Isn't it beeee-u-tifoool", he sighs!

"Yes", I agree.

Growing still!

Now remember the question I asked before, who is the fool here?

I left to put the pics on my computer and in that time the sister got involved...

This bottle I filled yesterday!

Two empty bottles of bubbles...

...lovely blue water...

Yikes, I got to go! Things might get out of hand...

I am on a mission. A mission to make my days better. Real living....remembering who I am, making better choices, playing in the dirt. I want the days of children....I want that feeling in the evening, the feeling of a day grandly spent. Whether it was spent digging thistles in the yard for a penny each, or reading a book until your eyes ached. Coasting down hills, swimming until you dropped, having a foot race with your favorite pup. Watching fireworks wrapped up in a blanket with your best friend ever, laughing until your stomach actually hurts, taking a walk with the sweetest boy on the planet. A day grandly spent.

It's amazing to me that we forget who we are so often. What did we used to love? How did we used to breathe? What did our mother's footsteps sound like? What does summer taste like? How did we used to forgive so easily? Living with a six year old boy does wonders for my memory.

To the Jury...

 

I offer this evidence as proof that he did too like my blueberry pie, despite current claims to the contrary!