We have a garden in the backyard. It is comprised of three planter boxes with various sorts of trellis contraptions guiding veggies and vines skyward. The wood of the boxes is starting to splinter under the summer heat and dry air. The dirt is drying and the bean sprouts dying, but for the most part the garden is doing quite well. We are having a banner year for tomatoes and in a few months we are going to be so, so tired of pumpkin pie.
The toddler loves the garden. If his brother or mother are harvesting he will run across the yard to join them. He picks onions out of the dirt and without fail tries very hard to slam his head or elbow, really any weak point of his tiny body, right into the hardened dry wood for aiming for maximum injury.
We have a new walker in the house and it is going to kill me.
The boys attend a really nice day care facility during the work week. There are plenty of activities and toys, books and crafts for them to take part in throughout their day. It is well structured and they are never short on things to do. We are very pleased with it so far, but being just a month into the new place we’re still in the honeymoon phase. What we are really enjoying is the level of communication they bring to the table. For example, whenever the toddler injures himself in some way we get a write-up of the occurrence with full detail on the what and how of the accident including measures to fix the problem or mend the child.
Today there were three such write-ups provided to my wife. This wee little human is a living ball of stress inducer. A bump on the head, a scratch on the leg and a second bump in the same spot as the first one were all detailed for us. He falls with style it seems.
I cannot say I am surprised by the little guy’s battle with gravity. I just wish he did not actively seek trouble. In the photo above he is yielding an onion he dug out of the garden himself and eyeing a ball half way across the yard. For a small human the path was long and full of danger, a regular Fellowship journey if the onion was his Sam. He did not look at the sprinkler head, the firstborn’s toys, the goal hoops or the bucket game that filled his path. He looked at the ball he wanted to play with and nothing was going to stop him.
He’s always getting one step closer to mastery of this whole walking thing that seems to be all the rage. He’s also constantly moving a half step closer to bodily harm that he will recover from just fine, but takes months off his parents lives.