restlessness wins out.

The past two days, Atticus and I have gone to the park. He climbs as high as he can and beams down at me. He slides down, more carefully than you would expect. He demands that I extinguish the life of any and all bugs that come near him. He throws dirt, sand, mulch.

And still he likes to swing, calling higher, higher! Higher, Mama! He is too big for the baby swing but too much of a daredevil for a regular one. Swinging only lasts a minute or two because restlessness always wins out.

I read this poem to him on Sunday, just like my mom used to read it to me.

“The Swing” by Robert Louis Stevenson

How do you like to go up in a swing,
Up in the air so blue?
Oh, I do think it the pleasantest thing
Ever a child can do!

Up in the air and over the wall,
Till I can see so wide,
River and trees and cattle and all
Over the countryside–

Till I look down on the garden green,
Down on the roof so brown–
Up in the air I go flying again,
Up in the air and down!

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