After a brief and confusing hiatus this weekend (seriously, it snowed. A lot.) Spring has more or less returned.
Margaret celebrated by insisting that we play outside when we got back from taking Leo to work. This was somewhat complicated by the fact that I had not gotten her dressed before we took him to work, and so when she insisted, she was still wearing her sleeper, which has feet substantial enough to hinder the assumption of shoes, but not so substantial as to protect the feet from the great outdoors.
So I wrestled her inside, got her dressed, and took her back out.
She was pleased.
In the yard, there are several things that she loves doing. She loves wandering around (usually as fast as she can towards the slight downhill slope that ends in concrete, because she likes seeing her mother scamper). She loves digging her hands into all the new and different textures one can find outside. And she loves the swing, with a deep and abiding passion.
So it was no surprise when she headed for said swing.
Nor was it any surprise when she stopped just short of the swing to dig her little fingers into the gravel that still manages to peek through the grass.
She politely offered me some to eat, but I wasn’t feeling particularly hungry this morning, so I declined, and then cruelly took it away from her before she could eat it herself. This was not appreciated as much as you might think, so I put her in the swing to turn her thoughts.
This met with qualified approval.
Which soon turned to outright happiness.
No comments:
Post a Comment