Ping Pong Sundays
My run this morning nearly killed me. Seriously, running at 7am with a margarita hangover is not smart. Not smart at all. I think I might have experienced a small coronary infarction about two miles in, not to mention the sun was beyond blinding and HOT. Despite all of these issues, I pushed through and feel 100% better. But don’t think I wasn’t cursing Ping Pong Sundays the entire time.
This summer, Casa Whoorl’s front yard has become ping pong central on Sundays. D is a great ping pong player and it just so happens that our neighbor played tennis in college and is quite the player himself. Mix in the family on the other side of us, who force us to eat things like tacos and homemade rice and beans, and I think it’s safe to say, Sunday is now officially my favorite day. The play continues for a couple of hours while the grand total of 6 children run (well, Wito crawls and cruises the side of the house) through the grassy lawns, kicking balls and laughing hysterically. And what do the non-pongers do? We keep our eyes on the children while sipping delicious margaritas. I like our job the best.
After the fierce competitors have had their fill, the gaming table becomes host for all of the delicious food. Last night it was homemade salsa, guacamole, carnitas, tortillas, rice and beans and all the fixins. I’m pretty sure I ate my body weight in pork last night. There’s just nothing like a juicy carnitas taco followed by a tart margarita. And so we eat and laugh and eat and laugh until the only light left is from the moon, straining to see each other’s faces across the lawn.
However, the very best part is listening to the unpredictable comments from the 4 and 5-year-olds. As we were discussing our neighborhood’s overactive security force, one neighbor joked that if you sneeze too loudly, the security helicopters will circle your home for 45 minutes. Without missing a beat, the 5-year-old looked up from his ice cream cone, completely exasperated, and said, “Well, YOU KNOW, a red dog and a sweater just won’t cut it anymore!”
After we put Wito down and the other children had finished dinner, the remaining kids scurried inside our neighbor’s house to play. As we continued to chat outside, we heard the leader of the pack (a 4-year-old girl) yell from inside her room, “Now, let’s get this PARTY STARTED!”
I can’t wait to hear what comes out of Wito’s mouth in the upcoming years. I have a feeling we won’t be disappointed.