He loves to be outside. In fact one of his very first words was “outside”, except that he couldn’t say it properly and what he actually said was “Sigh!”. The sound of pure and unadulterated happiness, the place that is everything good in the world.
Over time we have endeavoured to have more things to do and see outside. I was hoping we could avoid the odd trip to the park and simply take a trip out into the yard. So now we have a dog, a trampoline, a sandpit, a bike, every shaped ball imaginable and a scooter. He STILL plays with the tap, the hosepipe and the washing machine in the laundry. The tap he turns on full blast and nearly floods the backyard. It also creates a spray out of the dogs bowl that means anyone wanting to switch it off has to take a shower. The hosepipe he attaches and detaches from the tap, not many hosepipes have lived long enough to tell the tales of their mistreatment. The washing machine he insists on switching off the power, 5 mins out from completion of a 3 hour cycle, I don’t mind at all, it’s not annoying or anything.
Unfortunately we seem to have a lot of mosquitos and bugs outside, so the first order of business on embarking on any adventure into the outdoors is to chase my child around trying to spray him with the repellent. Just his extremities and none of his orifices. Harder than it sounds when you have a moving target and a bottle that will only spray when held upright.
The thing that I most commonly need to do outside is hang up the washing and it’s very inconvenient to have to rescue your toddler from whatever precarious position he has decided to endanger himself in between pegging up each and every garment. The top 5 precarious positions, in no particular order are;
The top of his father’s motorcycle, that he pretends to drive more dangerously than most 17 year olds could hope to do all whilst remaining stationary in the shed.
The top of the lawn mower as he dangles from the handlebar and edges it closer and closer to a gutter at the side of the garden.
The back gate, he rattles it like a prisoner with no hope of parole, trying to worry it free from it’s latch so he can run up the driveway and out into the great wide “sigh”.
The top of the stairs that he was far more competent climbing up than he ever will be getting back down again and that has a gaping drop down the side of the house with the added liability of a large dog that loves to run near him and has on numerous occasions almost swept him off his feet.
The underneath part of the house that I am completely convinced is about to tumble down on his head if he so much as looks at it in the wrong way and he doesn’t just look, he touches and pushes and digs and throws stones at it.