For the entire day, I am in charge of four-year-old Arlo.
After we drop his older sister at school, we head out on an adventure, which is only a two mile round trip scooter ride to the grocery store.
From the eyes of a four-year-old it is an adventure.
"Look it's a drain hole!" He fast circles his scooter to loop around the metal plate.
"It's a fire hydrant!" He's so excited, I ask him he wants his picture taken with the hydrant. He stares incredulously as if I've missed the whole point. And indeed, I have.
"Look, this is where I fell."
"The tire swing!"
When we come upon street construction and there is one excavator, he says he wants to watch, but we move on quickly. I think he is frightened from the proximity and the noise.
When we find not one but two Little Libraries, he has to open each one and choose a book.
When we arrive at the grocery, he has to use the little shopping cart. "Look, it has a flag on top!" He wants a bag of skittles and wants to buy his dad a soda.
His exuberance on the way home sends him swirling into the concrete. A patch of skin the size of a no. 2 pencil eraser is torn from his elbow. His exuberance is gone, and he's content to ride in the stroller all the way home.
Ah...the fall, the dash of hopes, the stumble from which we try to recover. For Arlo, he will start tomorrow the same way--dashing off on his scooter with the exuberance of a four-year-old. It is only after a lifetime of falls and failures that we are worn down enough to leave the scooter in the garage.
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