I hope everyone in our neck of the woods spent the day outside today! It was a perfect-weather Sunday – sunny, slightly breezy, highs of 70s (but still with that wonderful fall chill in the air). We had planned a morning at the playground, but Frances and George had such a great time playing in our own yard that we stuck around the house until late morning before heading to our local park.
Will needed to clean out the gutters (which you can do yourself when you’re 6’5”) and the kiddos were thrilled to be able to play in our usually off-limits fenceless front yard:
As they wrestled with each other, Will and I both commented about our own childhood memories of playing outside in our yards with our siblings—the feel of the ground when you were tackled (just hard enough to stop you, but not hard enough to hurt), the sweet smell of the grass, the complete muscle exhaustion from chasing each other around the trees until you collapsed into a happy heap on top of the dry leaves:
Some of my most vivid childhood memories are from playing in our yard—not a fancy playground, not an indoor moon bounce arena—but in our own neighborhood. I remember finding new corners, rocks, plants and other natural features nearly every time we were left to just explore. When we were left to our own devices, we let our brains relax and wander, slowly opening up to what lay within our fenced-in play area. We didn’t expect our parents to entertain us and quite frankly we didn’t need it. We had all we needed at our fingertips—grass, trees, balls of varying sizes, and our imaginations.
I don’t know if Frances and George will recall their memories from today’s romp. But I do know it will not be their last, particularly if they have anything to say about it:
Happy Sunday, everyone!
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