Winning "Fall."

It's 85 degrees on a Sunday night, and every member of my household has passed out watching football. There are orange lights strung up outside my house, and drying swimsuits on the porch. I just made soup from Seth's garden

but I'm dying to jump in the pool with a pina colada in hand. C'est l'automne dans le sud.

We survived a weather-schizophrenic week which included a much-needed Mellow Mushroom date night with our faves (at which we witnessed maybe the most appalling act of helicopter parenting ever)

and school's fall festival, at which Seth represented like a champ and also at which Ford painted his pumpkin in Vikings colors. 

The highlight of the weekend was picking up Jayne for her fall visit (after countless hours of trying to make the house appear less like an actual biohazard); but we hit Raleigh later than expected, causing us to swap out the state fair plan for the much-lower-key Pullen Park.

It's always a great choice, and we loved reminiscing about this photo of Ford, almost exactly one year earlier. Some things (thankfully) never change.

 

A delighted dinner with Grandma was had (along with belly laughs about this "like-father-like-son" scenario)

followed by an excellent choice to eschew the many local over-the-top pumpkin patches for trick or treating and patchouli everything at the Dirtbag Ales Farmers Market.

Ford's terrible death glares notwithstanding,

a good time was had by all.

Plus, there was face painting.

Which necessitated selfie taking.

And man-dates are never to be taken for granted.

(Nor are opportunities to show off Spiderman chops.)

As per usual, a singular photo is hard to pick, but I'm partial to this one of the Nieman-Ryan Happy Hooligans

and this funny/ terrifying evidence of Finley's early affinity for musicians (sigh. It's a note she wrote to the guitarist that says "I love your singing.")

When in doubt, the moral of the story goes; celebrate Halloween far from corn mazes, and close to craft beer and good friends. 

Army Loses in the Pouring Rain but... Beluga Whales.

We were seriously on the fence about back-to-back Army football travel weekends, and the weather didn't look good. In fact, as the week went on, the forecast in Atlanta got progressively worse. 

Which of course (because who doesn't love a good adventure?) meant that Saturday found us waterlogged in the Orange Lot at Georgia State University.

 Where we found the Ryans, and cookies, and plenty of mud.

And took what has to be a top contender for Christmas card headliner:

 

The game that followed, even after a quick "change in the parking lot with the heater on" session, was utterly miserable in every way. Except that we were suffering with our people.

Including this kid, who lets our kids tackle him every chance they get

and these two, who couldn't have been happier to be left alone to watch the game in their "own seats." (Because everyone else had fled the tropical storm.)

Another Army loss left everyone in a mood that could only be cured by early morning Starbucks runs through the "Hunger Games"-famous lobby of our hotel

and 8am trips to the hot tub, much to the chagrin of our fellow travelers.

Because we always squeeze every last second out of the weekend, we of course made time for Centennial Park,

including a stop at this wild playground

and a swing by the Coca Cola Museum (the kids have no idea what this is and Ford is certain the statue is of the guy who invented beards)

before heading to the real reason I had agreed to a nutty down-and-back to Atlanta: the Georgia Aquarium.

No idea on Finely's face. Don't ask.

It was as incredible as I had imagined, with beluga whales and whale sharks and a tunnel under the world's largest shark tank you ride through on a conveyor belt.

Plus these handsome boys discussing seriously whether an eel could eat your whole body at once. (I weighed in, and my opinion was quickly and soundly repudiated.)

It was a long drive home, but worth it for this shot of my favorite people, weekend-ed out.

Is there any other way to weekend?

No Sleep 'Til... Bowling Green?

It wasn't bad enough that we were eating lunch at 3pm at a roadside Ruby Tuesday, dressed and smelling like people who had escaped from a mental institution and gone on the lam.

In the bathroom, Ford refused to take off his new gloves (purchased by Natalie for Saturday night's suddenly-chilly temps) and somehow managed to pee on both one of his hands and the back of his shorts. Then he locked himself in the stall by accident and proceeded to throw a fit. (In a moment of not-selfless parenting, I let Finley be the one to crawl under the stall door and rescue him.) After he flatly refused to put on his shorts, I called Seth, threw a nude-from-the-waist-down and crying Ford at him, and sprinted with Finley across the parking lot to the camper for new shorts.

When I got back to the table, the waitress there strongly recommended the 8 oz. wine pour. It was an excellent suggestion.

(Incidentally, we were at Ruby Tuesday in the first place because Finley had had a minor meltdown begging for steak. All of which she ate. Ford, on the other hand, ate this carb-heavy, completely tan-colored meal.)

The kid drama was all our fault, really. After a wild week of Chuck E. Cheese parties

and the thrilling arrival of Halloween costumes;

we had, in true Nieman fashion, gone all in a harebrained road trip (complete with camper) to see the Army-Western Kentucky game with friends.

It was absolutely worth the (incredibly long) drive, despite the Army loss to the oddly-named Hilltoppers.

In addition to a road trip on which we discovered train museums and Famous Ice Cream

the kids got to camp with their best friends,

see their beloved (now commissioned) "Army team,"

and act like real hooligans at the tailgate.

Yes, that does appear to be Finley learning to take a shot from a miniature Solo cup. I'm hopeful that it was juice, but you can never be too sure with Finley.

There was also this moment

and this hilarious late night death march. Bowling Green was responsible for no shortage of memorable times.

Thanks to the world's dumbest federal holiday we spent a final, lovely night on the shores of Douglas Lake

 which turned out to be beautiful

 and to have either very discerning or not at all hungry fish.

Waterlogged breakfast in PJs was just bonus.

All in all, it was an action-packed and unforgettable weekend, with enough late nights that Ruby Tuesday tantrums were completely understandable. Although no less mortifying.

Couple funny ones from this week are this bizarre pose F+F struck while hiking around the campground in their PJs/ leopard print dress (why not?)

and this funny one from Maggie and Ally's birthday party, in which- if you look closely enough- you'll note a very intent father-son duo.