conuly

Welll.... why are you singing it? Why that song? No, really, why?

Because I always sing when I walk, make dinner, shower, or otherwise do things. Or I hum. Or I absently go da-da-da to whatever pops into my head. It's just that it usually has nothing to do with them, but something about seeing them run up, then down, then up the steps to the lookout point jogs that part of my memory.

I don't think they're really that upset by it, though. They don't go "Connie, stop already!" but "Oh, Connie is being crazy, let's run to the next landmark and wait for her to catch up! Aaah, she'll catch us!" which is what they want to do anyway, as seen by the fact that humming or not they generally run to the next spot and wait for me. They just don't roll their eyes first. If I didn't want them climbing on things I would take the free bus instead of walking the mile and a half or so down the length of the park to the boat. (And then after the walk in which they gleefully climbed on everything in sight they ask "wait, why didn't we take the bus? You made us walk this whole way?" but, you know, it had been a long day.)

I mean, let's face it, I went to Eva's class to read last week, and she hid her face and cringed when I said "here is the book Eva wanted me to read," a sentence I had carefully constructed to be as bland and non-embarrassing as possible. I think they're just in general principle embarrassed by the idea of being around related adults in public.

As far as the benches goes, the truth is they climb to the six foot height, walk along it, then jump down step by step down to the lower part before jumping off in a wild plunge to the ground, but without a picture it's hard to explain. Though I never considered knee injuries before. Still, I'd rather they burn off all that energy when we walk rather than waiting until we get home. They have a full steam ahead approach to life that isn't very suited for bedtime.