the patience of a saint named uncle james

For a place that is perpetually in a drought, Austin has a lot of fountains.

Don't get me wrong, I love fountains.

So does every three year old on the planet.

The other evening, Aunt Jenny, Uncle James, Jack, and I were walking to the restaurant where we met Grammy and Pop for dinner.  

(For locals, we tried to go to Buenos Aires in the Hill Country Galleria.  It's amaze.  However, the rest of the world has discovered that it's amaze, and they told us we would have to wait an hour.  Which, in toddler speak, is a big HELL NO.  So, we ended up at Cafe Blue, which I am meh about.)

It was a lovely evening, so we walked.  The shortest path from Point A to Point B involved passing enticing fountains.  

I held Jack on the edge for a while so that he could splash without falling in.  (Mother of the Year, right here.)  However, he wasn't done.  The water was still flowing, and Jack wanted to be there.

Enter, Uncle James.  He's a patient, patient man.

Jack flailed a bit.  He wanted to Be One with the water.  James was unsure of exactly how to do that -- in a parent approved way.

Rest assured, he figured it out.  He ran Jack up and down the row of fountains, which made everyone giggle or squeal or smile with glee.

So clearly, this is the conclusion:

We ate, we drank, we made merry.  We ran up and down the row of fountains.  We splashed, we smiled, we lived in the moment.

Hope you get a decent splash in today.

Talk soon,
Heather