Jonesie Bug & Freddie Bear: Happy Birthday to MY Daddy!

On Thursday, the boys and I went to Greenville. This time, it was to get haircuts (we've found that Ashley at Snip-Its is the BEST, mostly because she's able to cut Jones's hair even as he pitches a crazy kind of madman fit. "If I can't cut a moving target," she told me, "I'm in trouble." I guess she's seen it all before, but she's the first stylist who's been able to cut his hair without making me feel like the worst mom in the world. Because of that, I will pay her whatever her price.) and, more importantly, to celebrate Pop's 65th birthday!

Since he was working for most of the day, we didn't get to see him until right before dinner. That's when we gave him his gift - the giant candy container shown above. Then, we headed out to meet Sissy and David at Trio for dinner. How Trio has remained so consistently fantastic since it opened in 1996, I will never know, but it remains my favorite - a staple spot for when I get together with friends. Fortunately, Daddy loves their BLT Pizza, so it was a perfect place to celebrate.

There is something so very "Dave &
Tom" about this shot. I love it.

We'd planned to go to the Lakeside Concert at Furman after we ate, but somehow, that got changed to just listening to the music at Downtown Alive in Greenville. And while we're on the subject of Greenville, can I just say that I hope people who get to raise their kids there know how incredible great that they have it. It's not everywhere that you can have a delicious dinner and then walk two blocks north to find some live music on a random Thursday nite in July.

But I digress.

On our way up Main, Daddy wanted to stop at Mast's to buy the candy he'd need to fill his giant jar. Once that deed was done, we were on our way to the "constert," as Jones called it.

As Daddy filled up his candy basket, Jones and Freddie migrated immediately to the car racks, which is exactly where they migrate whenever they enter ANY Mast's ... as if we don't have racks of cars ourselves.

I have learned that little boys are born with XY chromosomes and a genetic code that predispositions them to be obsessed with objects that have steering wheels. Anyone who tells you differently has never had - or interacted with - a little boy.

There. I've said it.

When we got to the block of Main Street where the music happens, Freddie couldn't contain himself. He started bopping down the street - Mom said he looked like a Blues Brother, which is as accurate a description as I can think of.

We parked ourselves outside of the vacant spot that once was Bistro Europa (for the record, I never really liked that place). The boys proceeded to chase each other through the openings, two of which were covered with all-weather panels. They pushed and played and chased for twenty minutes or more. To watch it looked like a waiter scene in a silent movie. All that was missing was a spittake. It was hilarious, and they had the time of their lives.

Then Jones started asking about the "constert" (all of this happened, while the band was on its break), so we walked over, so he could see the stage and, once they fired back up again, listened to another song or two before heading home.

Since Daddy hadn't gotten to see them ride their "alliGator," they rode for a few minutes when we got to the house. When it was time to go in, I told Fred to park it right in front of the garage. My thinking was that I'd push it the rest of the way in, assuming he couldn't thread the needle between Mom's "monster truck car" and Daddy's "new monster truck."

Shows what I know.

He proceeded to pull it perfectly between Mom's car and the wall of the garage and then turned just the right angle to park straight between the two cars. He then strutted out of the garage, his chest stuck out, and nonchalantly announced, "It's in the garage."

Thanks, Son.

On Friday morning, we swam; we then stayed long enough in the afternoon for the boys to see their beloved "Belba." Funny story about that - earlier this week, Jones and I were looking through an album of his baby photos. When we got to a picture of a four month old Jones with Uncle Bill and Aunt Belva, I pointed at her and asked, "Who's that?" Jones said, "Dat's BEL-ba!" When I pointed at Uncle Bill and asked the same, Jones answered, "Dat's her dad."

Heeheehee.

As expected, they loved visiting with Belba - and I think they were even glad to see "her dad." After a couple of hours with them, we headed back home where their daddy drove up just after we did.

It was a wonderful way to kick off the weekend, about which I'm hoping to write more tonite ... because BOY, is there a story ...