I don't mean to bore everyone with weather talk but, um, I'm going to anyway.
The past week and a half has brought us some of the most blissful sixty-and-sunny degree weather. Spring is such a wonderful time in the Northern South and we are so happy we are here. Fayetteville is a little bit of a funny place. Most of Arkansas is extremely poor, but the area we live in is pretty affluent and a few small towns above us are downright ritzy. Anyway, because we live in Northwestern Arkansas, Fayetteville has some seriously Southern qualities but also has a bit of a Midwest feeling as well. Which, as a Southern-Midwestern hybrid, often puts me right at home. I spent my early childhood in Mobile, Alabama and, at the age of eight, moved to a suburb of Kansas City, Missouri where I lived until I graduated high school. So, I really like that Fayetteville is a little bit of a hybrid. I'm not gonna lie, I'd rather live more South than Midwest and would really, really love to live in one of the Carolinas one day but, with that, I'm totally off topic.
Last night, we had a tornado warning. I didn't mind tornado watches or warnings when I lived in Missouri because we always had a finished basement and, most of the time, next to nothing happens. I mean, if you remember this post, that basically sums up what happens when tornadoes come by. We bring down blankets, mattresses, and pillows, watch a whole bunch of movies and chill out as a family which is fun unless someone starts crying. But! Now that I live in Arkansas with a husband and a baby in a second floor apartment, tornadoes are scary! We don't have a basement! So, last night, we brought Max into bed with us and, once the watch turned into a warning, we threw everything out of my cluttered closet, threw blankets and pillows on the floor, and snuggled up until the warning ended. And, looking back, it was really fun. I know that's a horribly irreverent thing to say, especially because natural disaster should not be taken lightly, but I mean that it's a little bit of a roller coaster to try and figure things out (Should we hide in the closet? The bathroom? What about that other closet?!) when you're young and married with a little toddler and a baby belly and it's extremely funny when your toddler sleeps through multiple bed transfers and high speed winds but then wakes up after everything is said and done and then becomes a tornado in your bed after the real tornado never formed.
Meaning this: Our bedroom is littered with all kinds of craft supplies and clothing and an ugly utility shelf and boxes (pulled out of the closet). Okay, fine, our bathroom is, too. And our kitchen? It's full of cleaning supplies and pretzels and acrylic paints. And our living room? It's bursting at the seam with newspapers and more craft supplies and a whole bundle of photographs and a shelf we took down last night before the warnings... and pretzels, too. So even though we didn't get hit by a tornado last night, our apartment looks like one barreled through every room save Maxwell's which is ironic since Maxwell is, in fact, a tornado.
And here are some photographs from the park today:
I swear, my son looks like a reincarnation of his Daddy, but he has an independence streak the size of the Mississippi he got straight from me. Here he is, insisting that he climb the stairs to the slide himself, get in the slide himself, slide down himself, and catch himself at the bottom:
Also shoes? Don't even think about it. He whips off sneakers and sandals and dress shoes faster than potential lovers whip out gum and breath mints after a meal made up of onions, garlic, and butternut squash.
Yeah, I don't know where I pulled that "butternut squash" line out from, either.