I'm just going to lay this one out as it unfolded. Sorry there are no pictures--grabbing the camera was not my top concern, but a striking image was at the center of this little vignette.
Scene One (A Spring day, late afternoon)
Nova: Can I play outside?
Me: Yes
(ten minutes later)
Nova: (in tears) Why can't you climb some trees?
Me: Some trees grow in a way that makes them hard to climb. We can find other trees to climb, even if we can't climb the ones in the back yard. And they are good for tree houses (we are planning to build a tree house next week).
Nova goes out to play in the yard again
I continue making dinner
Scene Two (fifteen minutes later)
I glance out the window. Behind the black walnut tree (which all the tree house books have informed me have exceptionally brittle branches) I see stacked precariously, our patio table, a dining room chair, the bathroom step stool, and Nova, reaching for the nearest limb.
Me: Come in here now! (luckily Nova can't hear me and I get a minute to calm down, see the positives of the situation, and go about things in a more nuanced way).
I scoop up Charlotte and head out back.
Me: Nova, I'm impressed that you thought of a way to get in the tree but its really not a good one to climb.
Nova: Why not?
Me: Its branches break easily.
Nova: Mom, I never get to climb trees (tears)
(repeat the conversation from scene one regarding tree-climbing)
Me: Solomon and Nova, bring the chairs and things inside.
Solomon: (emerging from a book) I didn't help her do any of that.
I am thunderstruck--the table seats four and is made of cast iron, and Nova is only a head taller than the dining room chair.
Well--I'm not a playwrite, but you get the idea. Man that kid is strong, quick, determined, and totally unconcerned with safety (or asking permission). No broken bones, life continues.
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