We have a new swing. After months of battling rogue blackberry bushes, our green space is now a magical playland. Albeit an area rife with injurious possibilities ... but magical nonetheless.
I was gone this past Friday and Saturday at a women's church event. The family didn't really miss me. They stayed up late, ate leftover bits and carrot sticks, turned the bathrooms inexplicably filthy, and took a trip to the Home Depot. Some rope, pulleys, clamps, and a little outdoor-savvy later ... a suspended tree swing came into existence.
It's not coincidental that this effort took place while I was away. The swing is only marginally safe ... in my opinion. But Pops, with a one-shoulder shrug, deflected my concerns. Really, Mom. Is it that big of a deal that you can swing into large shrubbery or potentially fall off into a mondo barricade of branches and bramble that border a steep, swampy hill? Relax, Mom, relax!
Not only was the swing erected, but Peter broke ground on his new pit. With the arrival of the bunnies, his pit digging zone was displaced. He has been a bit of an aimless wanderer lately, mourning his loss of excavation abilities. Well sorrow no more, my son! Dig, dig, dig.
Of course, I'm sure our neighbors must think we are digging graves for any souls that may be lost to the swing. But then ... I think they've already realized we're too odd to figure, and probably don't attempt to bother.
So swing on, dig deep, my family. I have a feeling that memories are being made of a fond and dear childhood.
I'm so glad I left for the weekend. So much can be found ... and realized ... upon return.