Green Ponds, Golden Mornings, GOOSE POOP

I sleep with my window open so I can smell the jasmine and the roses that live outside my bedroom window. Sometimes I hear a dog howl. Sometimes I wake to the sound of ducks, quacking their brains out and splashing in our pool.
It’s not a bad way to start the morning, but seriously, keep it down ducks. It wasn’t even 7 a.m. and you’re not roosters, you are DUCKS. 
I’m feeling better. After 5 plus weeks of sickness, just saying, “I feel better” makes me think I’m going to catch another virus. It’s part of my “Try Every Communicable Disease” springtime extravaganza
On Sunday I woke to the sound of QUACKING and SPLASHING from the DUCKS who think they are ROOSTERS. It was the first day in a few days that I crawled out of my bed and left my crackers and 7 up behind. My mom had the toddler so I suggested a trip to the park with the big boys. I would sit on my bench and watch the children frolic. I would talk to my husband about life instead of barf. It would be glorious.

We live next to one of the biggest parks in the city but I don’t go there often because Tobin the Toddler would dive into the duck pond and everything would be gross and GOOSE POOP we’d have to go home. 

 We parked ourselves next to a cute little creek and enjoyed the cool and quiet of 8 a.m on a Sunday. The boys wanted to walk in the creek. I said no because, ew.

I forgot that I had brought their daddy along for a nice chat. He felt they neeeeeded to get in the water and “be boys” and whatever. I felt exhausted again, so I just sat on the park bench and decided not to argue. As the boys explored the murky depths of the creek, I found it impossible to talk or think about anything else except for swamp germs.

 At one point I tried to cry “Mosquito” but everyone said they were gnats. Then, finally I realized why I was so stressed out about the fact my kids were tromping around in a “NO SWIMMING” zone.

A) I like to follow the rules. I mean, not really, but I do respect signs. I don’t smoke in restaurants, I wear shoes in the mini mart, and I don’t swim in gross pond water. Call me crazy.

B) I had JUST finished being sick from an illness that I had contracted from the kids. Now they were splashing around in GOOSE POOP.

C) GOOSE POOP

I pointed out reason B to Derrick, who up to that point thought every thing was bucolic and manly. As much as he loves rugged adventure through GOOSE POOP water in a city park (or whatever), he wasn’t too keen on getting sick again. Everyone had to get out of the water.

SUCCESS!

By now I was exhausted. I was ready to go back to bed, curl up with Curb Appeal, and nap. So I did. This post is just to tell you that if I’m sick for another 5 weeks, we can all blame Derrick or GOOSE POOP or just rugged adventuring with no regard for signs. Pick one. I know I will.

Happy Monday. May the GOOSE POOP of life be in the pond and your feet be on the ground this week.

10 thoughts on “Green Ponds, Golden Mornings, GOOSE POOP

  1. We are kindred soul in that I literally just texted the words goose poop to my husband and daughter. They are out searching for an address to pick up something and asked me if I knew where a certain Gairloch Park was. I replied – Hello! Goose Poop Park – how could my husband forget!! We tried to have peaceful park outings there when we lived in Oakville years ago , but EW. And they attacked us! If there is anything worse than goose poop germs it might be gashes and slashes. xo And feel better. Seriously

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  2. That first picture has me wondering – Did your precious boy try to feed Starbucks to the geese/ducks?? (Obviously I am obsessed with coffee and baked goods.)

    We ventured today a big pond filled with geese (and goose poop) and me freaking out that Bubby was going to fall in as we “hiked” new friends on rocks near the water. I was also carrying a backpack, a Sonic drink, and a 27 pound Bugaboo. In flipflops. (I am very new to this outdoorsy stuff that must come with being a mom to boys.)

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  3. My kids did this yesterday in our park creek. In their Sunday clothes. My husband wasn't there or he would surely have been freaking out about it. But, having spent a goodly portion of my childhood playing creeks myself, I didn't worry at all. And I never got sick from it. 🙂 BUT, I don't know about goose poop and I hope you don't get anything from it!

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  4. Is it a sign of perpetual immaturity that every single time I read the words GOOSE POOP, I laughed? I'm gonna pray, right now, over you and your boys. But not your hubs. If he gets sick? Well… them's the brakes for GOOSE POOP loving adventurers. (Above age 18, anyway)

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