The Dandelion Walk

I took a short walk with my barely-three-year-old granddaughter Lexi recently - although since she was walking instead of riding in the stroller there was nothing short about it except her legs. She'd take four steps on the sidewalk, zoom off into the grass to pick a dandelion (she likes both the yellow ones and the white ones), then take a few more steps, alternately keeping her beautiful treasure or handing it over to me. 

After we both had many dandelions, alive and dead, she said, "It's time to run, Nini." So we ran. And ran. And ran. When we stopped, she looked down at her dandelions and cried, "What HAPPENED to my flowers?!" Of course the wind had blown the seeds of all the “white” dandelions away, so all that was left were their droopy little stubby stems. She was very sad. For a minute. Then it was time to run again. So we ran.  By now I was starting to feel a bit like Forrest Gump.  When she stopped, she was panting and she said, "Lexi's tired, it's time to slow down. The light is yellow."

The rest of the walk was a full-body experience for her.  She walked backwards for awhile, skipped for a while, and hopped like a bunny for a while.  To make a long story short, it took thirty minutes to walk a block and a half. Delightful as it was, I might reconsider the stroller next time.