We had been in the house all morning. After minor disagreements, aches and pains, major attitude problems, and much time spent on his bed, Bo was ready to get out. We shod our feet and put on our jackets and headed for a garage sale at his best friend Aiden's house. It was a beautiful morning, cool, breezy and brilliantly sunny. It felt like a Seattle summer day. Gorgeous. We began to walk, going from cool shade to warm sunlight, breathing in the fresh air. We rounded the corner, and the pleasant weather and happy destination was suddenly overwhelming to one young boy, and he began to skip. The sight of that blond head going up and down in an unsteady rhythm was nourishment to my soul. I felt like I was skipping myself, only without the uncomfortable jostling of bones. That, to me, is one of the greatest features of children. They get to do all the impulsive happy things you feel like doing, and it is satisfying enough to watch them.
He started walking again. "I'll bet I can do 100 skips." "Try it," I responded. So he did. And he could. His counting was at times a little behind his skipping, but he kept going with both. He got short of breath, and stopped counting, but continued skipping, and started back up where he had stopped with the numbers. The "skipping" sometimes veered into "strange kicking gyrations of the legs while attempting to ambulate" but he kept going. I didn't correct him, just let him stay in his own world. He had challenged himself, and fulfilled it. He was satisfied. It wasn't a lesson that needed enhancing. He learned what he needed to know. He could do 100 skips.
I'll bet I can take a 20 minute nap.
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