Lazy days...

Brent is forever asking me to go outside in the evenings. You know, when you're tired from a long day, and it's still almost 90 degrees out, and you have to fix everyone something to eat. And now he's even resourceful enough to open the french doors that lead out onto the porch. So now, unless we remember to lock them, he has his own access to things. What usually happens, though, is that he opens the door, smells the wonderful breezes of freedom, takes two steps, and then is hauled back inside by his cruel and unusual mother. And hell hath no fury like a toddler scorned. Andy and I put our hands over our ears and brace ourselves. Well, at least I do, he usually just goes into another room and leaves me to handle things. And I really can't blame him, there.

So I try, before bedtime, but late enough that the sun's angry stares have dissipated somewhat,

to take him out and let him run around for a few minutes. The only place he wants to go, for some reason, is this little area out by the woodshed. I guess it's because the ground is sandy there and he can draw in it with sticks. But to me it just represents the area where the mosquitos and horseflies wait in silence to strike, and where the wood looks at any moment to come crashing down on some innocent boy walking by. I'm sure it isn't, but I still don't let him near it. And then he sits and plays in the dirt, and Andy and I stand and watch for as long as we can stand, fighting away all the vicious insects. I usually love going outside with Brent, but when he's over there, he retreats into his own little world. And he leaves me at the gate, in a sense. I watch in awe as he puts the world aside and just plays in the moment, without a care in the world. It certainly wouldn't hurt any of us to do that for a few minutes each day, and it certainly seems to recharge him.

Every day, I'm still amazed at the lessons I'm taught, and so many of the bigger ones come from such a small little guy.