“Would you like a popsicle?” I ask him one ninety degree day, which we are lying around the air conditioned house and reading Laura Numeroff books together.
“Yes please.”
“What color?”
“Dark black.”
“Your options are blue, purple, orange, red, or green.”
“Nothing!”
Before dinner he was up to his elbows in a sandbox project. He couldn’t possibly stop when he had just made bridges out of scrap wood and was now adding the water under the bridges. While Bob prepared a feast of grilled chicken and vegetables, Matthew sang and sculpted happily.
Then the unthinkable happened. I told him it was time to go inside for dinner.
“I’ll wait here.”
“You can either come inside with me and then we can go back outside after dinner. Or if I have to carry you inside there will be no outside play after dinner.”
“Nothing!”
Matthew has far happier moments than not. This summer has been enjoyable as anticipated.
We’ve harvested broccoli, potatoes, and one small tomato so far from our garden. I left Matt in charge of planting a handful of pumpkin seeds and half the seeds wound up in his sandbox and the other half in the garden with his concrete mixer. We’ve been in the habit of picking wildflowers for our table centerpieces and walking outside in our bare feet.
Matthew finally got to meet his summer idol, the Dogfather. Each day we pass a truck called The Dogfather. While Matthew could not get over the good fortune of a truck that sells hotdogs, I always got a good chuckle from the clever signs on the curb. Eat here or we will both starve. Rustic dinning. I’ll make you a hot dog you can’t refuse. We finally made it there for lunch one Saturday morning and our hot dogs were delicious.
During the Fourth of July fireworks Matthew was awe struck. “It’s raining lights!” he exclaimed.
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