Dirty Feet.

Ahhhhh, if you need us from now until November… we will be outside!

Spring has finally sprung around here, and we could not be happier! We are a filthy bunch of Proebsting’s. And I mean that in a good way! We are outside almost all day long and we do not wear shoes. We play in the mud. We spray Duncan with the hose. We dump bottles of bubbles all over ourselves. We run through the grass and draw all over the patio (and house) with sidewalk chalk. It’s a good time around here. We have filthy feet, hands, and nails. (But we do wash them lots, don’t worry).

Yesterday was the first day I was able to throw everyone outside first thing in the morning – and that will continue until it snows again. It’s so amazing. We just have better days when they start with fresh air and exercise. We had our breakfast outside both mornings, and today we added in lunch as well. I made our first batch of lemonade and bought our first watermelon. Leah was less than enthused about watermelon -what a weirdo. Just like her dad. Who doesn’t like watermelon?!

If we are not outside for some weird reason, we are inside with all the windows open. Man, I love this time of year.

Doing what good homeowners do, we tended to the gardens all weekend. Turns out, I hate gardening. Who knew? It was fun to be outside, and to watch Kyle shovel rocks – but I really just liked the end product. If I never picked another weed again it would be too soon. The new baby also hates gardening; it did a number on me squat down and get up so much. But I have recovered, and we have a very pretty front garden now. Here’s to hoping we don’t kill it. If anything, our flowers are at high risk for drowning thanks to Leah’s obsession with the hose. And her watering can. And dumping regular cups of water.

Speaking of Leah, I think she definitely loves the warmer weather – she has been in the best mood for a whole week! And she won’t shut up. Seriously, with the talking. Last night at the dinner table Kyle and I were trying to talk to each other and I just kept noticing our voices getting higher to try to drown hers out. I had both my hands on my cheeks and just looked at her and said, “shhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhh.” Ha, I love her, I really do. And I love her sweet little voice and all she has to say – but my God, listening to her all day takes a lot out of me. Not to mention she really doesn’t take a break… ever. She goes on and on and on, intermingling words and babble. Which I suppose is good – but at the same time – shh!

But I really am happy for all of her words, and that she loves to talk as much as she does. This past week or two we have entered a new stage with her – two and three word simple sentences. It’s so fun. Her favorites are:

  • That’s dada!
  • That’s Dunkie! (Duncan)
  • It’s mama.
  • Mama help.
  • Where is that Pooh?
  • Right there (when asked to point something out in a book).
  • Hi Dunkie!
  • I jump
  • Dunkie ball
  • Mama ball
  • Dada ball (she loves anyone to play ball)
  • No more
  • No Dunkie!
  • I ople (apple) (as in, can I have an apple)
  • It’s boooo (blue)
  • It’s geeeee (green)
  • Where is Dunkie
  • Mama poo-poo (she thinks she’s potty training me)
  • It’s a cookie
  • I pop (can I have a popsicle)
  • It’s a duck! (she is loving ducks)
  • It’s open
  • It’s on
  • I up

You get the idea. It’s fun to have little conversations with her. And then sometimes I want a mute button for a second. 🙂

She is starting to develop a new relationship with Duncan – yelling at him. She’s not mean to him on purpose like she was for a couple weeks, but she loves to get him in trouble! And anytime she gets hurt, whether or not he is actually to blame, she always yells DUNKIE! Heaven forbid he does accidentally hurt her, I don’t hear the end of it – and neither does he. Yesterday he walked over her foot and she talked about it for 30 minutes. And kept pointing at him and saying Dunkieeeeeeeeee. And showing me her foot.

Geeeeez, toddlers.

They’re fun, but exhausting.

That’s about it. We are lovers of the great outdoors. And talking non-stop.


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