foster is obsessed with sticks and rocks (gotta be a guy thing). we are not talking about twigs mind you...these are full-grown STICKS...you know the kind that could be mistaken for a sword if you happen to find yourself in impending danger. and the rocks are not exactly anything to be taken lightly either. i think david himself would be proud (of david and golieth).
so we are off. large non-twigs in hand and as we walk. "we" (meaning foster, and me repeating as a good mom does in training the early linguist) continually call out "rock!" as a new jem is found along the edge of the grass. "we" proceed to jam it between our fingers and sticks so that as the trip progresses the extra space in "our" hands becomes increasingly impeached. as "we" reach down for one last decadent rock...a real beauty, i might add...at least 3 inches in diameter, rough around the edges and completly coated in mud...the dam breaks under the pressure of stick/rock overload and we have a catastrophy of vast proportion. sticks and rocks scatter everywhere. "OH-NO!" "we" shreak! a large effort of picking and swooshing and shuffling ensues as "we" grasp at every last morstle. i suggest putting them in the basket under rowan's stroller so as to not repeat this episode in the future. this is a grand idea, and each individual peice is carefuly stowed one at a time. (did you hear what i said? ONE at a time.) 9 minutes later, we are off again. our precious cargo is safetly stowed in our under-stroller compartment. all is well.
repeat the above steps 13 more times.
ah, life with little boys. i love every second of it!
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