The Great Outdoors

When I was a kid, being outside was an adventure and, in spite of being a girl, I didn't mind getting dirty to have one. I can remember making mud pies in our backyard and arranging them, just so, on the big green electricity box in the back yard. The metal got so hot it would bake the mud in an afternoon. I remember low-crawling through piles of leaves and drawing up imaginary treasure maps leading all around our yard. When I got older, I wasn't that much different. Soccer games played in the rain and the mud were the most fun, in my opinion, and, although Mike loves to tease me now, I loved our camping trips with family friends. Everyone had kids around the same age, and we spent hours hiking or playing soccer or football in the adjoining fields to our sites. At night we sat around the campfire playing cards, and I can't remember ever noticing bugs or dirt or the like...

Now, I'm an adult, and my husband gives me a patronizing sort of smile whenever I insist these tidbits of my younger days actually occurred. I guess I can't blame him for his skepticism. But, here's the thing, now when I go out in the heat and dirt and bug-infested grass, I'm not playing with the freedom and abandon of youth, I'm supervising. Supervising doesn't involve much running around. In fact, it involves a lot of slowly circling the property being always prepared to step in as a referee or medic or whatever the situation calls for. These days, being fairly pregnant, I do more sedentary observing, which means, rather than enjoying the breeze or the sunny day, I'm usually in one place, painfully aware of the heat and the swarms of gnats engulfing me. You never notice when you're running around having an adventure. When you're just sitting there...waiting for the plague of insects to attack, it's not.

Nevertheless, I went outside yesterday to keep an eye on the kids. Not necessarily because I was looking forward to leaving the indoors, but because I'd finished the majority of tasks and chores that would make for a good excuse to avoid going. I sat on one of our big tree stumps, very conscious of the ants that were inexplicably attracted to me, and watched my boys gleefully digging a huge hole in the dirt. They had dirt everywhere and yet were completely unaware. Keller scooped up a huge shovelful of dirt and actually dumped it over his head. Not only was there a visibly heavy layer of soil coating his hair, it was lodged in his ears. He was grinning obliviously. I have NO idea why. My youngest, Kennedy, kept sneaking off to our blackberry bush around the side of the house. She's already knowledgeable about which juicy fruits are ripe for picking, and she helped herself whenever she thought she could beat me there. (My mother asked me later if I washed the ones she picked. I just laughed to myself. As if I had the time to clean them before she expertly plucked them and popped them quickly into her little mouth!) To top it off, I caught her scooping yucky rain water out of the back of a very dirty dump truck. I'm sure it was quite refreshing. Still, I dumped it out after that. Just couldn't bring myself to let that continue, whether it bothered her or not.

But they all had a fantastic time. They were completely unaware of the dirt and the heat and the bugs and all the things I tried so hard, and failed miserably, to ignore. I was happy for them though. Having their own messy adventures in our "great outdoors" of a backyard. Even as I inwardly lamented over the logistically difficult task of getting five dirty children bathed with only one bathroom, I did remember with satisfaction, and a little longing, all those carefree days when I once felt exactly the same way. And who knows, maybe one day not too long from now, when I'm no longer greatly pregnant and all my children have reach an age of moderate self-sufficiency, I will find myself falling in with the hikes and joining in the games of tag and soccer and treasure hunting once more...and enjoying it!