Brought to you by Bloom
It was hot. I didn’t have a care in the world. Up and down I went. Around and around. In these:
Perfectly safe were they not? I glided on these things. Up and down the path in our backyard, spinning around the Hills Hoist a few times until I built up enough speed to zoom back down the path which had just the right amount of bumps to give you that rush of butterflies in your stomach.
My brother, 5 years my senior, lay bored in a big sun chair, water gun in hand. You know where this is going right? I always tell kids things always seem funny until someone gets hurt. And it was a bit like that. Spray Angela and let’s see if it annoys her as she tries to skate up and down the path.
It was kinda funny and I felt pretty clever turning my head to look at him while I spun around the Hills Hoist. Except that clothesline was pretty ancient and there was a big, rusty nail poking out of it. So as I spun around, all the while with my eyes on the boy with the water gun, I was suddenly stuck. Unable to take off. Because the dirty nail was caught on my wrist and stretched my skin like an elastic.
When you hurt yourself, it always hurts more when you look at the result. And once I got a look, it really hurt! My parents blamed my brother immediately and he was beside himself. I felt so guilty that I told them it wasn’t his fault. Of course now we are older I always say it was his fault. After some tape to hold it together, it left a permanent scar:
You would think that’s all pretty awful. But I don’t remember the pain much. I just remember being outside in our yard, running through sprinklers, spraying water guns and water bombs and having a good time. We still were hooked on computer games (I did grow up with two older brothers) but those times outside were the best.
We’ve been blessed to live rurally with a huge yard. I am not sure how Tom would have survived without it. Jazz, our kelpie, basically taught him how to kick a ball. He is always driving his Tonka trucks and who doesn’t love a bit of water play?
He’s at the perfect age for that kind of stuff and I’m sure in a few years when Jeremy is ready, there will be no stopping them both. But until then, I feel it is my solemn duty, to introduce him to this kind of play. It was hard work. But somebody’s got to do it right?
We’re moving as people know. And I’m pretty sure a big backyard is a must for us even though we won’t be rural anymore.
This is where memories are made…the only happy scars in my life are on my wrist and my knees.
If you’re thinking of real estate with big backyards be sure to check out Bloom in the New Berwick’s Facebook Page.
Have you got any awesome backyard battle scars from your childhood?