Every night The Mister takes Mikey and Nicholas on a walk around the neighborhood. The walk is ostensibly to enjoy the great outdoors and instill good exercising habits, but really it’s to exhaust little boys into nightime submission. One good run around the block is enough to make their pillows sing like sirens down the hall–a fact we take advantage of eagerly.
I sometimes go on the walk with them, depending on how behind I am writing my posts for The Bright Side Project. Today The Mister had a last minute dinner meeting and I finished my post in the early afternoon, so after dinner I grabbed the boys, the dogs, and my camera.
We began where we always do at the “On Your Marks, Get Set, GO! Starting Line.”
I know cul-de-sacs are less than revered by city planners, but you can’t get me to complain about the slow traffic that allows my boys to run through the streets with (minimal) cares in the world. The boys usually grab random found objects (that almost always happen to be fossils or discarded weapons left behind by victorious Clone Troopers). Today Mikey was content to stuff dinosaur eggs in his pocket (acorns) while Nicholas used a discarded light saber (palm frond) like a rudder.
Our neighborhood is full of older homes from the 50s. We absolutely love the homes from this period.
Nothing flashy or showy, just cute homes with well taken care of yards–among the families with older children. The homes with children five and younger (ahem) don’t have nearly as nice a front yard.
I always like to see what thrives where people live. In my area, agapanthus and roses as far as the eyes can see. Agapanthus are actually builder’s plants around here. You couldn’t kill them if you tried.
At the end of the cul-de-sac is the boys’ favorite part: The Secret Forest. The Mister and I find this name curious because the area is neither hidden nor shrouded in trees. We’re talking about a chain link fence and four palm trees.
You can thank these two rascals for the blurry pictures.
The Secret Forest is as good a spot as any to take pictures of boys who haven’t brushed their hair since morning.
Then we turn around and walk back home. Nicholas makes sure to follow step by step every move Mikey makes.
Although not always with the same five year old grace and dexterity.
As alarming as his screams and feigned attempted at paralysis may seem to strangers, I’m not impressed. He’s still clutching his Agapanthus bud and his palm frond/light saber.
Less than 2.6 nanoseconds after falling, a passing airplane confirms my suspicions.
The real tears come a few minutes later when I tell him it’s time to go inside.
Which stop as soon as he sees the pile of cars he left in the kitchen.