The Great Outdoors

I’m not kidding myself (as Margaret clearly is) that the weather  is pleasant or anything.  But the temperatures have been creeping into the upper 40s (and actually, on Friday, made it into the 50s and briefly back out the other side).  So it’s not been bad.  A bit chilly in the morning with a touch of frost, but as the day wears on, it gets passable.

Which is nice, because Margaret is getting tired of living in a house.*

So on Friday, we went to the Botanical Garden, and Margaret, as is her wont, rode the sheep.

It’s easier to ride the sheep with your tongue out, you understand.

When she got tired of that, she managed the exceptionally tricky rear-dismount, without smashing her face into the concrete sheep’s back.

We then went and fed the ducks, but it was hard to get a picture of Margaret doing that, because she was a) facing the water and b) surrounded by an adoring entourage that wasn’t carrying Ellie about in the sling.  So I took a picture of Ellie instead.

Note the entourage in the background.  Margaret is down amongst the sea of legs that these people are standing on.  And the two furthest down aren’t part of our group.  It takes a lot of adults to corral Margaret, but not quite that many.

Anyway, Ellie, bundled up as she was, benefited greatly from the sunshine.  She’s still a little yellower than she ought, by nature, to be, but she’s lightening quickly.

Yesterday Leo and I took Margaret and Ellie to the park.  Ellie seemed unimpressed.

Still, she got to wear another hat with ears, so that was good.

Margaret, on the other hand, tore around like a crazy person, and had a marvelous time.

One of the important rituals of playing on this particular piece of equipment is saying “boo” through the portholes.

So she did that, and then we walked down to a neighborhood coffee shop to refortify her with cookies and milk.

A good time was had by all, except possibly the cookies, but no one really asked them, and I suppose that if one is a cookie, then one’s purpose in life is to be eaten and enjoyed, so it probably is rather pleasant to fulfill one’s purpose.  Or at least that’s what I’d like to think, because otherwise I have to imagine that I’m torturing cookies, and that kind of takes some of the joy out of eating them.

*It’s a book title, really, and a very nice book at that.  Margaret is not so much tired of living in a house, but rather tired of being in the house more than she is accustomed.  I don’t like taking Ellie to places where there might be germs (so people), and it’s been pretty chilly for such a small person.  So poor Margaret has been feeling cooped up.**

**Except that she has a very nice grandmother who comes and takes her places like the zoo and the swimming pool (or water house, in Margaret’s particular lexicon) and the library (book house; ditto).  So she’s not suffering too much.