cousin camp, day three

Cousin Camp, Day Three of shunning the laundry detergent.  Here’s how we’re doing:

My sister and I once upon three years ago traded maternity clothes.  For a couple of months, Buddy and Little Friend swam around in amniotic fluid concurrently.  (Side note—anyone else aware that amniotic fluid is a fancy way—to quote Fancy Nancy—of saying baby pee?!).  Now, the babes in wombs have grown into youngsters who can run, jump, sashay, and lip-synch with the best of the toddler crowd.

Itty Bitty is the matriarch of the group.  At almost five years old, she sagely and oh-so-maturely states, “That’s okay.  She can have my book.  I’ll go find another one.”  Of course, there are the sibling moments that sound, if you can decipher the shrill panic into language, more like, “He sat on my seat!!!!!!!!”  (Almost-five-year-olds use a lot of exclamation points.)

In any case, all cousins are finally at an age where long-term memories snake out roots and dig in deep.  We hope we’re planting some hardy seeds over these days together.

Here’s a recap of moments that we hope will become memories.

Memories of taming dragons and munching popcorn at the movie theater (and can I just say How To Tame Your Dragon is a great flick for all ages and a steal when the local theater screens it for free?!)

Memories of sauce and cheese and sticky dough that makes a pit stop in your mouth before heading to the oven:

Memories of fearless expeditions into the great, blue yonder…into the thick, dark jungle…into the bear’s den…the fox’s lair…the mosquito’s hideaway…the fern’s hollow.  Otherwise know as the woods behind Aunt Julia and Uncle Erick’s house.  Those woods, to the under 6 crowd, are certainly lovely, dark, and deep.  But there’s a stream down there, and our three divining rods of children were drawn to it.

Memories of a trampoline that vaulted one cousin high into the ether, while another cousin face planted into the mesh, and another cousin lost his pants.

Memories of an aunt/mother who could barely stand to put the camera down, even when one needy daughter commanded repeatedly, “Mama.  No taking pictures!!!!!”  (Almost-three-year-olds use lots of exclamation points.)  But this is one camera-toting mama who is considering having the viewfinder permanently transplanted onto her eye ball, because it’s the best way to capture moments like this:

And turn them into memories like this: