The seven-day forecast is telling us, “Go NOW!  This is your last chance till the weather turns!” And in this scenario, we are doing a good job of listening.  The winter months plain old traumatized me last year.  Weeks of negative temperatures and a very, very weary and long first trimester instilled the fear of the cold into my bloodstream.  So out we go.  All day every day.  

We headed to the fair grounds yesterday, one of the only real destinations in my town.  The intentions were to ride bikes.  I envisioned them spinning circles around the dusty road along the old fair stands and me cheering them on.  I so wanted (read: desperately needed) for them to burn off some of their energy, but I should have known their pots are bottomless.  Instead of the fast paced cycling, my boys did what they do and sunk deep into a good old-fashioned game of pretend.  I was lucky enough to be able to close my eyes with Jasper asleep on my chest, back leaned up against the cold cement dividers, warming my november cheeks and nose and listen to their banter.  I thought about how play is children’s work.  I thought about how much children are supposed to learn from this.  I thought to the naked eye it would be hard to pull out the lessons in such a game.  But, then I listened closer.

I heard them compromise over which direction to head.  I listened as they contemplated going up on to the forbidden stage.  I heard them as the argued, and argued hard about splashing each other in the mud puddles; setting boundaries.  I saw them waving hello to the lunch time walkers.  Miles read a sign, “Beware, Poison Ivy” and managed to stay away.  I saw them gallop off and return to me, over and over again, respecting my wishes but testing them too.  All in a days work I suppose.

It seems as if I can manage to pull myself out from under their feet, quit tripping them up, they will soar.