I was outside with the kids yesterday afternoon, taking out the trash, pulling weeds, supervising the girls’ cleanup effort as they picked up empty juice boxes and Goldfish snack wrappers from around the swingset. I doled out potting soil so they could plant flowers in the little pots they painted for me last Mother’s Day.
I found some shoes and meandered around the yard, searching for my lost scissors (why do they always swipe my scissors? And leave them in the yard? I’d really prefer to leave the shoes in the house, but I know from experience that locating missing sharp objects with my feet is not terribly enjoyable.)
I hoped that Hannah would figure out on her own that she should offer someone else a turn with the one ball and racket we found under the deck. (She didn’t, but eventually passed it on without excessive whininess.) I listened and smiled as Abby asked me for the 2,084 time, “Mom, aren’t you happy I finally have a boyfriend?”* to which I replied, “Abby, I’m happy that you’re happy.” I tried my best to not watch Sam walk the balance beam (which is actually the swingset beam — yes, that means it’s ten feet off the ground. Thus, the not watching.) No limbs were broken.
It was a perfect spring day; even if cooler than normal at 55 degrees. But none of us felt cold because the sun was shining and the sweet scents of grass and dirt and catmint made us all slightly delirious, and grateful to be outside.
I found the scissors. They were in the sandbox. Of course.
Note to self: buy tennis balls, sidewalk chalk, more juice boxes.
*4th grade boyfriend details to be posted separately.