Friday in the driveway

The gloomy weather gets to us all, so it was nice to have a sunny afternoon yesterday to get outside with the kids. First we tried the backyard, which was still wet and snow-covered. Jack was a little uncertain but ran around anyway, largely keeping to the grassy patches. Kate looked doubtful, but ran off in a straight line anyway, directly into some snow. After a little bit, she slipped and put her hand in the snow. She straightened up, gazing at her cold, wet hand with chagrin. Her face was slightly scrunched with disappointment, so I ran over and scooped her up. I said, OK, let's check out the driveway. Jack agreed with this plan.

In the driveway, it was dry (and a little sandy) and both kids ran around happily. I'd brought out the little basketballs and pulled the hoop out into the driveway, which Jack enjoyed for a few seconds and then wanted his bike. And Thomas. Thomas was a gift he'd been given by the Rosenfelds when he was under 2 years old. It's a riding train that plays the Thomas the Tank Engine theme and makes choo-choo sounds. Now he's too old for it and too big for it, and loves it more than ever. I got him to give passing interest to his bike, which he enjoyed for a bit, but, you know, it's more work than Thomas is. Which is OK at first but gradually he's thinking, this is difficult, Thomas is easy! Whee!

So Jack rode Thomas and Kate chased one of the basketballs around the driveway, shrieking and clicking her tongue making her dolphin noises. Every few minutes the ball would head toward the street, and I'd track it down and give it to her, and she'd take it ("Tchoo," she'd say, or Thank you), run over to the hoop, drop it through, and it would begin the long, slow roll toward the street. We did this for about half an hour, interrupted by bouts when she'd want a turn on Thomas, Jack would let her have one, then start saying about 1 minute in "Is it my turn yet?" "Is it my turn yet?" "She's been on it for a while. Is it my turn yet?" And then she'd want to try his bike, which was definitely too big for her, but she'd try to put her foot up onto a pedal anyway. And then she'd lose interest and go back to playing basketball, her basketball, where the ball went through the hoop and began its long slow roll, and she'd run after it laughing and clikcing and shrieking, and I'd make sure her path didn't intersect with Thomas', and I'd again try to interest Jack in his bike, and he'd try again for another minute or two, which went well when it was going on a downslope, like when it was headed toward the street.

Every once in a while I'd get to stand and just watch them running around, enjoying the warm weather, enjoying their toys, and then I'd have to intercept everything: the ball, Thomas, Jack, and Kate, all embarking on a slow journey toward the fortunately not very busy street yet again.