Yesterday I took Charlie outside for a few minutes after lunch and before his nap. It had rained in the morning, but by lunch it was sunny and the weather warm. We began kicking the ball around with our dog, Ivy (did I mention on here that we got a dog?). Soon Charlie noticed that he could hear the garbage truck and we decided to leash to dog and go and look for it. We opened the fence and started walking up our street. Charlie's 2 year old pace was an exercise in self-control for our high energy mutt, but I didn't mind. He is particularly enamored right now with the multitude of firebugs that emerge during Utah's spring. He would stop and lay his tummy on the side-walk and watch them crawl around. He picked dandelions and tiny grape hyacinths that grow in the grass. He picked up sticks, which reminded me so much of his older brother at that age. Eventually we circled back to our house, and begrudgingly he went inside for his nap. I don't know why this walk struck me as significant. It's not, really. Just an ordinary moment in an ordinary day full of laundry and dishes.
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