Such a fickle season, spring, barely stopping by for a visit between the too long visits of gloomy winter and the scorching heat of summer. Those precious few days when spring actually visits are spent outside, only outside.
“Hey Mom!” Carson exclaims. “I have an idea!”
“What is it Carson?” I ask, though knowing what he’s going to say.
“Let’s eat dinner outside, okay?”
So we eat dinner outside. Because we can.
Spring, stick around for awhile, will ya?
I drew hopscotch on the patio for the kids, at Carson’s request. I don’t even know how to play hopscotch.
“Mom, we hafta get a rock. See? I fro it and jump.”
Ella tries to mimic Carson, but still doesn’t quite have the balance to jump.
They both fall down, one with skinned elbows, the other with a skinned ego.
With the warm weather, I suspect there will be a lot more of that going around.
My stance on early bedtimes is wavering. I can concede (Finally!) that sometimes it’s okay to stay up late.
Instead we play outside (because we can) until what used to be their strict bedtime. Around and around, Carson totes Ella in his monster truck.
Battles over whose turn it is and crying that lasts a little too long over minor scrapes clues us in that it’s time to go inside. They barely put up a fight, their sun-kissed bodies are simply too tired as Tate and I scoop them up and carry them inside.
At the end of a busy day of playing outside, I hold her tightly on my lap before bathtime. I press my nose into her hair and smell dirt.
That’s the sign of a day well spent.