Sticks

You know what I love about my little kids? Their attraction to sticks.

I’m unsure but I think most kids are like this. Or, maybe it’s just that our yard and our neighborhood are filled with huge old poplars and sycamores, and they self-prune, so every time we have a little rain – or a season of crazy thunderstorms and tornadoes every year – we wake up the next day to a lawnful of sticks, but… (run-on)… my kids cannot resist them.

I remember 18-month- and 2-year-old AJ wanting to Pick Up Sticks nearly every time we went outdoors. He could hold more than I expected him to, and lovingly “helped Daddy” whenever I asked, toting his load all the way down to the burn pile. We spent a lot of time in the yard that year. And now, he uses them as swords, ninja ... things I don't even know, Indiana Jones whips... whatever his little mind conjures up.

Yesterday, KT and I were home on a sick-day. It was a beautiful 70-degree afternoon, so we went outside for a while at her request. I started cleaning up the twigs from this past Tuesday’s downpour, and she was game to help. Until she found “her” stick – one just long enough for her to carry over her shoulder like a fishing pole, and coincidentally, long enough to poke into the rabbit holes to “see if they were sleeping.” When she dropped her special stick to inspect some other rock or clover, and then couldn’t find it again, we had to instigate a full-on hunt. (We found it, not to worry.)

They’ve both been told more than once that we don’t bring sticks into the house. (Unfortunately.) I mean, I understand how awesome they are, I really do – I usually tell the kids to save them by the outdoor table, or near the garage, for the next time we come to play, but they forget or move on to a new one.

Some kids pick up rocks, I guess. We like sticks.