What better way to go for a wagon ride than sporting a hat and scarf that Mommy is sizing up in preparation for Hollandfest? Only something was different this time: instead of me pulling Ethan in the wagon, our little boy was walking down the street beside me pulling his bunny behind him.
Sometimes Ethan’s questions make me realize how much everyday knowledge I take for granted. Today, he was asking what gets mowed with a lawn mower. The grass? Yes. The mulch under the neighbor’s tree? No. The driveway? No.
Ethan has four music boxes in his bedroom, some or all of which we wind as part of the bedtime ritual. Depending on how well studied he is of late in the Big Book of Bedtime Stalling Tactics, the ritual can outlast the springs on some of the music boxes. Today at naptime, Beth wound up the windmill, the bear, the lion, and the round music box, but before she could take her leave, Ethan asked her to wind the windmill back up. Since there were still three music boxes playing on, Beth hadn’t realized it was stopped. But Ethan knew.
Shortly after Beth wound the windmill, Ethan asked her to wind the lion, which had now stopped. After Beth took care of the lion, finally he was ready to nap.
I’m reminded of when Ethan critiqued an opus; he sure knows his sounds!
“If Daddy can apply force to the back of the chair to push me in, why can’t I?”
Ethan chose Dr. Seuss’s Mr. Brown Can Moo! Can You? for his bedtime story. After “He can go like a train”, he turned several pages at once, landing on “he can even make a noise like a goldfish kiss”. The page skip might have been intentional because the next page was his favorite, “Mr. Brown makes thunder!” He had been talking about that sound.
Quickly then the book came to The End—too quickly for Ethan. I was about to put the book on his dresser when he started flipping backward and forward through the pages. He skipped pages we’d already read, ending up on a fresh page. So I read a few more pages, and we made more wonderful sounds, just like like Mr. Brown can do. Then after a little bit of Big and Little Nutbrown Hare, it was off to bed.
As I was about to put Ethan's pajamas on him, he started saying "monkey" and pointing. It turned out he had a favorite pair in mind. Not wanting him to roast that warm summer night, I was grateful for his pliability in considering other nightwear.
While Beth was at voice and violin lessons, Ethan and I took a stroll in the meadow behind our house late this afternoon. I caught a frog for Ethan to see and touch. Later we followed a turkey. It was walking along the same path as us, about fifteen steps ahead (Daddy steps, that is). Eventually, the turkey left the path into the tall grass, which we thought was the end of our fowl adventure. However, further on, the path came right up to the river. As we approached the bank, just a few steps in front of us, the same turkey darted out of the tall grass, got a good running start, and flew across the river into a tree on the other side. (This turkey was alone, which is unusual. It had been on our deck hours earlier and was at the end of our yard just before we went on our stroll.)
We had many other fun little adventures—broad patches of tall grass gone to seed, flowers, lone daisies, moths, butterflies, even stretches of path that were soggy wet (but thankfully not muddy, so wearing quality sandals and carrying Ethan worked well). We fought off the mosquitoes in the deep woods and appreciated their absence when we returned to the open meadow.
Ethan had a wonderful time. He walked himself the entire way, except where it was wet. In the past, we would carry him or pull him in the wagon much of the time. Finally though, he hit a limit. Weary from the journey, Ethan stopped, looked at me, and said, “Home.” He didn’t realize we were already heading home and were half way there. I picked him up so I could show him our destination in the distance: home.