the backyardigns

We need to bite the bullet and and buy a new air conditioner because our house is really bleeping hot. We knew it was an old unit when we bought the house and that it would need to be replaced or have major maintenance done on it, but when you're presented with a house that doesn't reek of cat urine or cigarettes like the previous houses you looked at did...you don't care to think that far ahead. But! When you're stewing in your own sweaty juices by 8:10 every single morning you start to think that far ahead while lingering in front of the open freezer. (We had some friends over a few weeks ago and the poor husband parked himself under our living room's ceiling fan after dinner and left with a very damp neckline on his polo. So sorry! Come back soon...??)

So...we go outside and live it up poolside until lunch and naps most mornings.

Maybe I should've sprung for the $18.99 dollar pool instead of buying this $10 dollar wonder. Whatever. This activity combined with a six minute trip to the playground (crawling with helicopters spraying their young with SPF 180 and following their every blink and whine) this morning better guarantee that Rad's nap will go until Jake returns home from work at sundown and the the Netflix Nanny with entertain Rhett for at least an hour. Or at the very least this summer activity, combined with hose-use privileges will launch me into the running for Mother of the Millennium...and beyond.

Jake always says Rad is such a bully but I don't know what he's talking about.

And let's talk about how NOT naked my nudist lovers are. I wrangled up some swimsuits for this jaunt in the backyard  (I have been known to let the kids do a little backyard naked time with the hose, as only true southwest white trash can) and I could almost hear the roars of approval from our neighbors. I'm sure my kids frequent streaking has some negative effects on their home equity.

C'est la classiest life.

Sometimes Rhett pulls a faux nap to get Rad to leave him alone which works about as well as you'd imagine it might.

When Rhett grabs the hose head and gives the holder a stare of death you know he means mean business because (shockingly!) everyone in the backyard wants that seven spray-options "water blaster".  It's an intense political drama daily. 

And when it's not Rad's turn to be the hose master he tries to shut the hose down hard. We raise nothing but the sweetest of hearts around here.

If Beck is awake he joins me at my lifeguarding post...

Judge not...I stripped him down to his skivvies right after this pic to avoid overheating.

And Jake is asking why I haven't yet blogged about his tomato plant(s).

He says plants, I say Godzilla of the Bush.

"Are they making a lot of salsa?" you wonder. 

Si. 

Olé...olé, olé, olé.