Recently I went hiking at a nearby state park with some friends and their children who are all close in age to Matthew. Here we were trekking along dirt paths lined with Rhododendrons admiring the man-made waterfalls and taking in the calming presence nature has to offer. Except that it wasn’t actually calming to me at all because A) I’m afraid of snakes and expected to see a snake parade slither out in front of us at any moment and B) My friend Kate was explaining everything around us to her daughter like a good mother is supposed to.
I would occasionally chime in with some commentary;
“Matthew do you see the bird on the tree? Look at the bird eating the berries off of the tree.”
“Yeah,” he replies with a big smile. He is in a delightful phase of agreeing whole heartily to anything you tell him.
“I think it’s a Hummingbird? Did you know that they are the only bird who can fly backwards?”
“Yeah,” he replies with a big smile. He is in a delightful phase of agreeing whole heartily to anything you tell him.
“I think it’s a Hummingbird? Did you know that they are the only bird who can fly backwards?”
“Yeah,” fidgeting with the flaps on his sunhat, only half listening.
“Do you see the ducks swimming in the water?”
He's no longer listening and distracted by a playful breeze. He watches intently as it shakes the leaves on the tree and makes rippled patterns in the water. Then he blows wind out of his own mouth and clapps his l hands together. He doesn't need me to observe our surroundings for him. He's busy absorbing things that I haven't paid attention to in years.
“Do you see the ducks swimming in the water?”
He's no longer listening and distracted by a playful breeze. He watches intently as it shakes the leaves on the tree and makes rippled patterns in the water. Then he blows wind out of his own mouth and clapps his l hands together. He doesn't need me to observe our surroundings for him. He's busy absorbing things that I haven't paid attention to in years.
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