Living with a toddler is like surviving a flood: don’t put anything valuable near the floor.
That’s easier said than done, of course, since living with a toddler requires spending a great deal of time on the floor. And getting up and down from the floor. All of which is not as much fun as an adult as I recall it being as a child.
Perhaps that’s because the distance I have to travel in each trip is longer now, or because I’ve made the trip so many times now the scenery has become a bit boring, or because each time reminds me of the question a masseuse once asked me, “When did you injure your sciatic nerve? It must have been a huge injury.”
Uh. What now?
For Jewel and 3B, however, it’s fun to jump up, fall down, climb atop the couch, jump down off the couch, and run simply for the sake of running.
I remember those days, those long summer evenings, when the pavement is still warm from the sun, but a cool breeze is stirring. After the sun had set, but when it was still bright enough that the streetlights hadn’t come on yet. I would set up running races, modeled after what I had seen of the Olympics, around the cul-de-sac, using the two sides of the sidewalk as lanes, lamposts and trees as start and finish lines.
And we would run. First one lap, then five, then ten, then maybe seven. We would just run.
In those glowing twilight hours, that was all that mattered to us.
Papa Bradstein is too old to run; he only exercises sitting down.
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