Ahhhh....there is something so invigorating, and at the same time so revolting, about that earthy, almost sulfuric smell little boys bring inside from an afternoon of play!
After a trying morning spent listening to whining and fighting an incessant battle of wills, I took Garin straight from his bed after naptime and out the back door, where we put on his shoes and socks and played for an hour. It's so easy, as your children get older, to forget the sheer joy that comes from sitting in a pile of sand, teaching a little one what a rock is and why he shouldn't eat it and then watching as he proceeds to try to bury every pebble he can find under the pile.
Or trying to get sand out of his eyes while explaining that we don't sweep a handful of sand into the wind.
Or walking the length of the retaining wall at least twenty times, trying to stay close enough to catch him should he fall but not so close that he knows what you're up to and tries to push you away.
Or laughing hard together when the wind manages enough strength to blow him over.
Or celebrating the absolute magnificence of a week-old pair of new shoes which suddenly look worn, thanks to their first significant scuffing and dirt bath.
And for me today, it was the victorious feeling that I am a success in life, if only because my barely-two-year-old counted to three! Over and over he counted, once he figured it out. And, no, he wasn't counting apples or blocks. He was counting horseshoes - dirty, rusty, heavy horseshoes - as he tossed them out of the weed-infested horseshoe pit in our backyard and then back in again. Horseshoe Number Four was completely ignored, but I didn't mind, and I doubt it did either. "UNG! DOO! DREE!"....over and over. And silly me, fighting back tears and saying, "YAY! YAY! YAY!"
Playtime ended when he decided it was time to wander and didn't want to come back to me. When he reached the driveway, I went after him and took his hand, but in another wonderful display of toddler development, he jerked his hand away......and landed face down on the concrete. We came in and cleaned up the scraped tips of his nose and chin and the little cut on his lip, and with a few kisses and some juice, all was well again. Another privilege of motherhood, come to think of it: the ability to comfort and to turn this upside-down world right again for at least that one little soul.
After a trying morning spent listening to whining and fighting an incessant battle of wills, I took Garin straight from his bed after naptime and out the back door, where we put on his shoes and socks and played for an hour. It's so easy, as your children get older, to forget the sheer joy that comes from sitting in a pile of sand, teaching a little one what a rock is and why he shouldn't eat it and then watching as he proceeds to try to bury every pebble he can find under the pile.
Or trying to get sand out of his eyes while explaining that we don't sweep a handful of sand into the wind.
Or walking the length of the retaining wall at least twenty times, trying to stay close enough to catch him should he fall but not so close that he knows what you're up to and tries to push you away.
Or laughing hard together when the wind manages enough strength to blow him over.
Or celebrating the absolute magnificence of a week-old pair of new shoes which suddenly look worn, thanks to their first significant scuffing and dirt bath.
And for me today, it was the victorious feeling that I am a success in life, if only because my barely-two-year-old counted to three! Over and over he counted, once he figured it out. And, no, he wasn't counting apples or blocks. He was counting horseshoes - dirty, rusty, heavy horseshoes - as he tossed them out of the weed-infested horseshoe pit in our backyard and then back in again. Horseshoe Number Four was completely ignored, but I didn't mind, and I doubt it did either. "UNG! DOO! DREE!"....over and over. And silly me, fighting back tears and saying, "YAY! YAY! YAY!"
Playtime ended when he decided it was time to wander and didn't want to come back to me. When he reached the driveway, I went after him and took his hand, but in another wonderful display of toddler development, he jerked his hand away......and landed face down on the concrete. We came in and cleaned up the scraped tips of his nose and chin and the little cut on his lip, and with a few kisses and some juice, all was well again. Another privilege of motherhood, come to think of it: the ability to comfort and to turn this upside-down world right again for at least that one little soul.
1 comment:
I am so thankful that you take the time to do this blog, and that there is now the technology that allows us to be a part of your everyday life, almost as it occurs. I can almost smell that little boy now! Mom
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