The Windmills of Time

These are two of fifteen windmills that we pass in southern Minnesota on the drive up to Rochester.They've sprouted out of a patch of farmland and are a good landmark to help guide us on our way.
  
But, I wouldn't want one in our backyard.

And speaking of backyards....we are back, in our own yard :-)

Everyone is safe and sound and got along just fine while we were gone. Kudos to Kendra for watching over the tribe.

It is always great to pull into the drive and be greeted by hugs and kisses from the younger ones. As I approached the door, 4-year-old Trevor came down the steps with a face that combined mournfulness and uncertainty.

I'm fully aware that kids can seem to be quite normal while one is gone, and then just fall apart when you return, so this type of countenance didn't particularly bother me.

I pulled him into my arms and snuggled him close...."Ohhhh, it's nice to have my Trevor-boy back"....*kissing and hugging*....."Boy, did I miss you!.....*burrows his face into my neck*......"MMmmmmm"

"Ah yes," I'm thinkin' to myself, "THIS is what it's all about...."

At which point he pulled his head back and solemnly announced, "Tweasure Mountain doesn't wook on my com-pu-toh."

"OOOOhhhh. That's too bad..." (yeah....glad you missed me too, kiddo)

*grins*

Crazy little bunny.

*happy sigh*

It's good to be home.
 

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