Blast (off)!

Working 9-5:30 on Saturdays always stinks, but especially in the summer.  I get up extra early to unload the dishwasher, start a load of laundry, and get something figured out for dinner before I leave.  Then, on the way home, all I can think about is getting dinner on the table, finishing the laundry and other house work that needs to be done while at the same time enjoying some weekend time with my family.

Today, as I drove down my street, I passed the kids who were out for a ride on the Barbie Jeep.  As I pulled in the driveway, the Barbie Jeep sped towards me, and all I could hear was the deafening cry of three children chanting,

Rocket!
Rocket!
Rocket!

They excitedly informed me that daddy had promised they could go blow off a rocket when mommy got home from work.  They didn't care that dinner wasn't done, and a trip to the grocery store was in order before dinner could be on the table.  They didn't care that none of the day's dishes had even made it into the dishwasher, and were piled up in the sink.  They didn't care that the same load of laundry I had put in the wash this morning was still there.  They didn't care that the kitchen counters were a mess, that every toy in the family room was out on the floor, that the backyard looked like a bomb had exploded.

They were excited, giddy about the idea of going down the street to blow off that rocket.  It took every bit of strength I could muster to put on a happy face, grab the camera, and walk down there with them.

They took turns doing the countdown and pushing the launcher button on the remote control.

They shrieked with delight as the rocket blasted in the air, and counted the number of seconds it remained airborne.  They chased the rocket, eagerly following it's descent pattern until it landed on the ground. 

They found great humor when the rocket landed in a neighborhood tree, and watched eagerly as daddy and a neighbor problem solved how to free the rocket from it's snare.

They watched through binoculars, recorded data in a notebook, laughed, ran and smiled for the entire half-hour we were down there.

And when we finally did come home?  The house was still a mess, the dishes still weren't done, the laundry still wasn't finished.  Mommy still had to make a trip to the grocery store before getting dinner on the table, and we ate at the time we're usually getting ready for bed.  But once we were finally tucking the kids into bed for the night, all 3 proclaimed the rocket blasting to be the best part of their weekends.  How can you argue with that?