Wednesday, March 31, 2010

You Don't Have Mail!

Birds were singing. Trees were blooming. The woods were beckoning. There was nothing to do but tie the baby on and go for a walk. Even the baby was having a fantastic time as she wiggled to position herself so she could lean over and watch the woodland floor as we went.

At the bottom of the hill behind our house is a small trickle of water. It's hardly even a creek. But the kids think of it as a roaring river and fancy themselves master explorers. They hopped back and forth over the water and gathered sticks, sang songs and played their hearts out. They were looking hot and thirsty. I was just thinking it was time to leave when Hannah decided she needed to pee.

I told her to pull her skirt down (doesn't every girl wear an aqua skirt with built in shorts and red glitter shoes on hikes?) and I'd help her get in the right position or she'd pee on her clothes. Of course, while I was issuing this warning, her clothes were getting the abuse I was trying to avoid. Self satisfied and a little giddy because she loves peeing in the woods, she pulled her skirt back up. The horror on her face told me she realized her mistake. Hannah detests having even minimally moist clothing and this outfit had gotten well-doused.

I had to do some fast talking to convince her that walking home through the briars completely naked was a bad idea. I even told her that I had peed on my clothes in the woods too and knew how she felt. I told her the story on the trek home. She was distracted from her misery by my tale. She was most amused to know that it was when I was a grown-up.

Upon reaching the house and catching back up with John, we decided to go to the mailbox before we went inside. John raced to the box and revealed two deliciously, Easter-yellow envelopes. Ahhh, this was the perfect way to lift Hannah's spirits after her misadventure. I smiled, realizing that Theo's grandmother had once again graced us with her impeccable thoughtfulness. She sends all the great-grandchildren cards on every, single holiday and birthday. I do believe she singlehandedly keeps Hallmark in business.

I never thought I'd regret teaching my eldest child to read. He ceremoniously held out the two envelopes and said, "This one is for John. That's me. And this one is for .... Cote? Mom, does that say Cote? Hmmm, I guess Hannah didn't get one."

Oh yeah, there's the brink and that's my daughter going right on over it. There was high-pitched wailing the likes of which can only be accomplished by a three-year-old female. I comforted her and tried to reassure her that hers was coming amidst her sorrowful chanting "Where's my mails? Where's my mails?"

I hugged. I consoled. I gave her ice water. I pointed out the twig stuck in the toe of my tennis shoe. At long last my patience and dedication wavered, so I took a picture and started writing a blog entry in my head... don't judge me.

She's at long last recovered and as I write, has been playing in the backyard. She must be okay because I was just given a beautiful, wilty dandelion by a happy girl wearing red glitter shoes. And I'm calling Theo to see if he might pick up a card on the way home.

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