what's underneath.

i took this two days ago while sitting a few feet away from z, hoping i wouldn't have grass stain on my butt when i got up. we go to the park nearly every day. z gets a free ride for three miles while i run. i hope to get a new jogging stroller soon, because the hand-me-down i have feels like pushing a wheelbarrow full of bricks. people are usually around when i'm heaving the jogger into the back of my car, and i like to pretend that they're thinking how strong i am. maybe i should let out a loud "eeeeaaaaahhhh!" like the muscle guys at the gym do when they're lifting the straight bar with 200 pounds on it. you know, just for effect.

after our run, i take z to the field next to the mini golf course that has yet to be manicured for the upcoming season. it needs a quick shave and some cologne. z is wholly uninterested in it. at his age, a chain link fence isn't worth his curiosity. so he runs and runs in the field. falls down. stares a dandelion right in the eye, says "pree?" (that means pretty), and i say "yes, baby. very pree." then he plucks its head right off its body and smashes it in his hand, half-squealing, half-grunting with joy. 

on this day, z discovered the shelter in the field. there are three of them, all with a concrete slab, brown picnic tables, and a brown roof. the one near us, near the slovenly mini golf, was the smallest of the three. z would stand on the cement, then step into the grass, back and forth, over and over. he liked how each surface felt beneath his feet. then he discovered that big, metal circle, which might be a water meter cover or a manhole, but i'm certain it's the door to the rabbit hole. he stomped around the door a bit, then stepped into the grass. back and forth. hard to soft. over and over.

i was thinking, z taught me something at the park. the rabbit-hole door and the grass, they're like life. our first year was like that door. hard as steel. harder, maybe. as year one came and went, the grass started to grow, and as my baby stepped into it, i did, too. we found our soft spot. i bet life for z and me will always be a lot like a day at the park. we'll stomp around those hard spots, and we'll relish the splendor of the grass.

hygiene horse.

booooossss. 

that's what he said when i asked if he was ready to brush his teeth this morning. we "booooossss" together every morning now. he stands patiently while i give the first few scrubs of his six teeth, and then he smiles when i tell him "you finish." it only took him three or four times before he understood what "let's go brush our teeth" meant. his powers of comprehension are pretty wicked for such a wee boy.

at first i thought his toothbrush was a little guy with a mohawk. then i uploaded the pic to this blog and realized, no, i'm wrong. it's a seahorse. unequivocally. look harder at that posture. now you see it, right? seahorses have a distinct posture. i wanted to call it astute, but then i went to merriam-webster to make sure i had it exact. i didn't. because no one would call a seahorse shrewd  or perspicacious (as listed in the definition of astute). and if they did, they'd be wrong. seahorses have an air about them. they carry themselves well.

one day i'll take zion to a seaquarium and he'll meet a seahorse. we'll name it, even though it won't be our own to take home and admire. at first he won't understand, but kids have short attention spans. we'll move on. 

everything will be okay.

anew.

today marks the beginning. a new blog. my second one. my first blog is about me, the writer, the ever-searching woman. this one is about life with my son. my sun.

the idea for it came at the suggestion of a friend. she knew i needed something else, to break apart the straight line that is life in this town where i grew up. a town that i left, certain i'd never have to live here again ... yet here i am. a town that, like me, is struggling to rediscover itself. my friend said, try to find joy again through your son's eyes. she told me to take photos  each day of the small miracles he finds in exploring his new world. at first i thought, okay, i'll share a photo on facebook every day. then i thought, no, no i won't. because that's not enough. so i closed my eyes, concentrated for a few minutes, and then i knew what to do.

so here i am. here we are. me and my son.

this is our life in north-central west virginia. baby steps, literally and figuratively. watch us grow.