This past weekend, my sister, Mindi, her husband, Matt, and their 3-year-old, Logan, came for a visit. As always, we had a most splendid time - a few beers, Euchre, late nights, reassembling our trampoline (worked out for us anyway - another story), a little bowling and lots of good food (all made by me this time - I just realized we didn't go out at all did we, Min?) They had spent the 3 nights prior to their visit here banished from their own house due to a major ice storm that hit their town and landed them without power for 48 hours. By Sunday, they were gravely missing their own bed and their house. About an hour before they were going to depart, the boys were getting rather wild and Gavin decided he wanted to go outside to play. I suggested they jump on the reassembled trampoline. Grant and Logan decided to follow. It was windy, wet and cold that morning, so I suggested wearing snow pants. Mindi was hesitant due to the conditions and commented they would need another bath if they got into the mud. I assured her they would be fine – worst case their outer layers get a wee bit muddy and wet on the trampoline. No big deal. I gave Mindi a pair of snowpants and an old coat for Logan so he wouldn't get his own all wet before their 4-5 hour car ride. We bundled the kids and sent them out back. Within minutes, we noticed no jumping, but lots of little-boy mischeivious shrieking. Here is what they decided to do instead:
Mom, you don't need to go to the spa, I've got a mud wrap right here for you.