And It's Only Tuesday

This morning went along like a typical day with my son, involving messes like orange juice in the button divots of the ottoman and an entire foam-rubber alphabet plus the numbers 0 through 9 displayed on the living room floor. The ultimate adrenalin-rush happened when I found him dangling by his fingertips from the top of the large metal birdcage in our sunroom, and unable to reach him in time, watched the entire thing tip forward in the direction of a large, glass-fronted cabinet. It was atypical of him, but he fell clear of the entire thing, and received for his efforts only a small scratch on his knee, and there is a minor scrape on the bottom of the cabinet. A few inches either way, and there'd have been broken glass or little toddler legs cut by sharp metal or both. The scratch on my son is in good company with the six bruises, twelve scabs, and three other scrapes currently decorating his legs.

I decided we'd spend the second half of the day outside, and it went something like a Calvin and Hobbes sandbox strip. It'll be okay if my husband doesn't ask me what happened to all of the water in his goldfish pond...


~

Sandbox Driver

My husband built our son a sandbox that's designed to look like a car. He used scrap wood he found in our barn and a couple of new boards from the local lumber store. He added a few coats of orange opaque stain, and I painted some headlights, taillights, and tires to finish the look. It reminds me a bit of a vintage Land Cruiser. We parked it off to the side of the garage in the shade of a gigantic spruce. The kid is so happy with it that he woke up this morning asking for the sandbox, so I'm either going to have a big problem or a wonderful diversion on my hands. Knowing my boy, it'll be a healthy dose of both.