Which I love and admire, in a way
completely somewhat rooted in a fantasy that she'll grow up to be this amazing, rugged, outdoorsy kind of person I can only aspire to from my comfy couch and cup of tea. And if it only didn't mean following her everywhere while she forages amongst the plants, rocks, bugs and dirt and tastes it ALL. Which I think is normal-ish, just impractical from a management standpoint.
For example, on a trip to the Columbia Gorge last week, she must have tried to eat an entire beach full of rocks, totally daintily, one at a time.
I try very very hard not to imagine what else has been on those rocks (not dog poop.... not bird poop... not people poop... superfund...nope, not that), and am trying to let her meet and embrace the whole natural world without always grabbing everything out of her hands with a crazed, dog-whistle-pitched shriek. But it's challenging. And I recognize that buried (not very deeply) inside me is a hand-wringing, annoying little dirt-phobic fusspot.
Conversely, Milo lately only eats and drinks and breathes Lego Exo-Force Robots and wouldn't go outside, far away from his robots, for ANYTHING. He's collecting these kits and building (with a lot of help - mainly from Jamie) all these machines and playing battles and creating and acting out stories about robots, good guys, bad guys, robot parts, laser cannons, etc. It's
maddening adorable. And totally unfamiliar.
This morning we sat down to write a letter to his teachers for Teacher Appreciation Week. We chatted a bit about what that might sound like and about things he'd noticed about them and how other thank you letters sound. And I thought we had a pretty good handle on how to say Thank You.
This is his letter:
This is from