The girls got to work on their beady, plastic things. I don't even know what they're called. I just know I have to bust out my iron when they're finished. My iron exists only to meld these plastic contraptions together. I'm not sure when the last time it was used for clothing. Seriously.
It cleared up after dinner, just in time for raiding the dress-up closet with the neighbor kids. The alien boy (below) does not belong to me. Peter Pan had to go eat dinner; tears were involved.
All in a summer day.