Leah and I spent a fair amount of time earlier this week cleaning and readying the guest room because our niece, her husband, and their two toddler children were coming to stay with us for a few days. We washed the guest room curtains and bedding and hung everything out in the sun to dry. We vacuumed the rest of the house and washed dog and cat nose smudges off the windows.
It’s been 30-some years since our son was toddler age, so Leah and I had forgotten how close-to-the-ground little ones live. Had we remembered the crawling, rolling, inch-worm-wiggle explorations that kiddos do of the space they inhabit, Leah and I could have saved ourselves the time we spent sweeping the house. The munchkin visitors -- a precious little one-year-old girl, and an inquisitive boy of three -- have used playtime bodily contact to mop and dust every surface inside our home way more thoroughly that Leah and I did.
The three-year-old has also taken me by the hand, convincing me of the pressing need -- for the umpteenth time today -- to go outside to feed the chickens and gather eggs; and I've lost count of how many trips he and I have made down the gravel lane to visit the neighbor’s horse. The child peppers me with an unending stream of questions:
“Will the horse bite me? Is he friendly?
“Why does the rooster crow all the time?
“Can we go gather eggs again?
“Where are your toys?”
