Inappropriate Dressing and Gypsygulls

This was one of those days. One of those random empty days that begged to be filled. How easy it would have been to fill every moment with wastefully necessary tasks! Instead, we did what was absolutely vital. We went to the lake and threw rocks at things.

It was fall, last fall. I remember the day so clearly, because until the moment we hit the shoreline, it was still a Texas summer. The season changed as we approached the water, and we were all inappropropriately dressed. That to say, in one moment we were sweating, and in another, half-frozen. We warmed ourselves by throwing more rocks at a much more furious pace, and by chasing enormous flocks of seagulls who were downed by the sudden temperature change. Even I admit to enjoying that chase. It was so fun to creep up to the grounded flock looking straight at us, and run towards them as they swelled into the air, a screeching mass. Then, floating back to their original position, they would taunt us to try again. Which we did. An embarrassing number of times.














(Question: Are they still called Seagulls if Lake Lewisville is their home and not the sea? I rather like Lakegulls, Hobogulls, Gypsygulls, Disorientedgulls, Lack-of-Effective-Map-Reading-Skills-Gulls.)

I love those longing-to-be-filled days. I love who my children are, and who I become, and I love the ideas we come up with together.