Davy's dirt

For Davy's birthday, I decided to buy him the gift I thought he'd like best. Dirt.

Yes, good old dirt. Here in the Ozarks, digging is hard. Dig an inch and you hit rock. No fun for a little boy who likes to dig in dirt.

Last year, I got to see Davy with access to a dirt pile for over a week. It was his Papa's dirt. Every day Davy would say, "Papa, is this your dirt? I love your dirt! Can I have your dirt?" His Papa always answered, "As much as you can carry."

When Davy was supposed to be napping, he would stand and stare out the window. If you asked what he was doing, he answered, "Watching my dirt."

He played everyday in that dirt, digging with spoons, making holes, making roads, driving toy tractors and bulldozers through it.

I warned Hillery, I would be buying him his own dirt for his birthday. And so, I did. 1400 pounds of dirt. When he saw me dumping it out, he said, "What are you doing with the more dirt?" I said, "It's Davy's dirt. It's for your birthday." He responded with a grin, saying "Davy LOVES dirt! I'm gonna get my tractor!" Dragging his excavator to his dirt, he immediately began playing. With each bag Hillery and I carried in we had to ask him to move so we could dump it on the pile.

Before anyone (else) asks, Hillery was cool with the dirt. People keep seeming shocked about this. They seem to think she should be mad that I gave Davy dirt. More laundry, more mess, all the mud! That's what people keep saying. I say it's a summer of outside activity. Boys will find dirt whether you give it to them or not. I just gave him some he could actually dig in.

My mom and most of the people around our age, including my husband who is still unconvinced that Hillery still likes me, think this is a very strange gift. Hillery's parents and my grandparents think it's genius. I think they remember from having little boys that dirt happens, and dirt covered little boys are happy boys.

So, without further ado, here are some pictures of Davy's dirt.
The dirt from Oklahoma did not have rocks, sand or twigs in it, but the dirt from Ohio had some rocks, a little sand and a couple twigs. The Oklahoma dirt was darker in color, too. What I learned from this is that Lowe's dirt is 1 cent more than Walmart's dirt, but well worth the extra penny. Here Davy is showing me the rocks he picked out of his dirt. Later, these were all being stored in the scoop part of his excavator.




A happy, dirty birthday boy.













Making good use of all his tractors, trucks, bulldozers, excavators, trowels and hand rakes. Just a boy and some dirt. In other words, pure contentment.

The days of Davy

Davy's birthday was 10 days ago. I am late blogging about it, because I had trouble with getting the pictures I wanted for the blog onto the computer. Davy turned 4. As Hillery said, it seems very big. He has completely left toddlerhood behind. He's a "big kid" n0w. I knew he had changed, but I did not know how much until I looked at this sequence of pictures:

This picture was taken in May of 2007. It is still one of my very favorite pictures of Davy, speaking volumes about his affectionate and caring nature.






This one was taken in May of 2008, on a visit to the train museum at Grant Beach Park. He already had lost some of the "babyishness" of the previous year.






This is his 3rd birthday last June. (Side note: How did his hair grow so much in just one month??)









And here he is on his 4th birthday. Crazy. He changed so much in that one year.











Happy Birthday, Little Boy. I can't wait to see how much you change in the next year. It seems like you've grown up so much, and so much faster than it went with Gabbie. I love the sweet nature you have. The hugs, and cuddles and concern for everyone around you. You are so intuitive about how people are feeling. That will serve you well as you grow up. We love you. Enjoy the dirt!

just one extra letter

There is a church on Glenstone with one of those "clever" signs out front. It reads, "Don't be discouraged. Moses was once in a basket case." Just that one extra word, the letter a, takes this saying from just being eye rollingly annoying to making no sense.

Nice.

summertime

It is summer now. Last year, I had several things to do right when school ended. I also had a long trip that happened unexpectedly.

This summer is feeling more "blank canvas-y" than last. Davy's birthday is next week. I will go home and see my family at some point, and go to Bella Vista to see Bryan.

Other than that, the summer seems wide open.

Truth be told...I don't really like that feeling as much as I used to.

sticky thinking

Today, standing in our classroom after school, I realized something. I live a very sticky life.

At that moment in time, my hands were sticky from holding the hand of a truly darling child who had been eating an apple. My pants leg was sticky from another student's juice spill. The crowning touch was the sticky goo in my hair, contributed by a child who hugged my head with pudding on her hand as I tied her shoe.

It was a very sticky day. On any given day, at some point, it is guaranteed that my hands will get sticky with one thing or another. (Only on a lucky day will only my hands be sticky. On a normal day...anything goes.)

I'm very lucky to live this sticky life. You see, the stickiest things in life are frequently also the sweetest. Toffee, caramel, jam... All sticky. My students...sticky, but sweet, for the most part.

I'm happy to have sticky hands, and pants, and even hair. For this stickiness is a sign of some seriously sweet blessings in my life.

It's summer as of 1:30 tomorrow. We all need the break. I'll be happy to have it, I know. But I will miss my sticky life in our classroom.

I will worry. Do they have enough to eat? Are they getting enough attention? Do the summer school teachers understand the words they use that mean something else? Is their home stable? Is their electricity on? Will they move over the summer without me knowing where, or saying good bye? Are they lonely?

I will pray. For protection. For stability. For someone to care. For provision. For retention of skills. For another chance to hold their sticky hands.

Day in and day out, these are my blessings. My sticky, sweet, ornery, stubborn blessings. I am used to being there for them. Letting go for the summer is very hard on my heart. Summer has its own blessings, its own share of sticky, but just as my students need the routines of our classroom, I know my life needs it, too. My heart is held tightly by all that sticky.