A Day With Bee {Just Write}

I wrote this post last fall, but then realized I never shared it. I do that sometimes. Better late than never, right? 

I feel like I know Zippy so well. I understand him. Maybe it’s because we’re so much alike, two peas in a pod. Maybe it’s because I’ve had six years now to figure him out or because at six, parts of his personality are just so clearly defined.

But Bee I’m still figuring out. He’s happy and stubborn and feisty, I think, and still very much a momma’s boy. How much is him? How much is copying his big brother? How much is being almost-three? I’m not quite sure yet.

Mondays are our day. It’s one of my days off and he stays home with me. On this particular Monday he announces he wants to go to a farm. Specifically, the farm we visited with friends a couple of months ago, the farm that is over an hour away. Farm…farm…I wrack my brain. Where is there a farm nearby? A farm we can actually visit? I remember a local market has a kids’ area and animals to pet. Bee tells me he wants to see horses. I hope they have horses.

I leave my camera behind this time, so I can just be with Bee, without the lens between us. We ride quietly in the car. He plays with his See N’ Say as we curve along the road.

There are chickens, turkeys, goats. There is a white pony. I tell him it’s a horse and he doesn’t argue. The pony-horse is good enough for him. He is cautious, as he often is in new situations. He insists I carry him. At almost three, he still loves to be in my arms. For fifty cents we buy an apple and the few remaining cabbage leaves at the farm stand, and I show Bee how to feed cabbage leaves to the goats by holding just the corner and letting go when they begin to nibble. He gives it a try, as long as I am holding on too. I feed the pony the apple while he watches. We look at the birds through chicken wire. Chickens, turkeys, ducks…Bee isn’t impressed with those.

We find a sandbox full of corn kernels and Bee gets right to work pouring corn into a plastic truck, dumping it out again. He is so independent with his play, immersed in it, narrating to himself. Another child takes his truck and Bee tells him, firmly, “I’m playing with that truck.” Assertive, confident.  I chat with another mom as I watch him. He would stay here for hours, I think.

Eventually, I convince him to move on and see what else there is to do. He is thrilled by the giant wooden tractor. He pretends it is stuck in the mud and we must push it out, together. Over and over. Stuck, unstuck. Stuck, unstuck. Stuck, unstuck. “Momma, you ride in the back now, with the hay.” I watch how he climbs up on the high seat, leans his body far forward to reach the spot where a steering wheel must have once been, and pretends to drive. We pet a calf, peek in on the bunnies, but return promptly to the tractor. Stuck, unstuck. We never do see what is on the other half of the farm, but that’s okay. We have no agenda today.

I’m hungry. “If we eat now, we can stay and play a while. Otherwise, we need to go home for lunch.” It’s an easy choice for him. But the market doesn’t actually have anything for lunch. We buy cider and a dessert bar, then sit side-by-side on a rusty metal glider to share it. He eats happily, his little boy fingers taking the sweet pieces that I break off for him. He has a sweet tooth, just like his momma. This moment is sweet.

As we go to leave, he climbs a set of wooden steps, not realizing they end at the top of a slide. “Come with me, Momma.” “I can’t,” I tell him. “I’m too big to go with you.” I stand at the bottom, gazing up at him. My sweet, sweet boy.  So full of life. So scare of slides. “You can do it,” I tell him. “You’ll land in the hay.” He grins at this and, surprising me, he pushes off.

Just Write was started by Heather over at The Extraordinary Ordinary, and is about capturing moments and writing freely from the heart instead of the  mind. Visit the EO to find out more about Just Write or to join in.