We went hiking with the girls Sunday.
Isn’t that funny, what I just said? Hiking. With the girls. As if there were such a thing with two children under the age of four.
Allow me to rephrase.
We went walking in the woods today, with the girls. We did, too. We walked.
We also ran.
We skipped stones across a lake (well, David skipped stones, while Saoirse threw handfuls into the water with such an arm I’m wondering if softball will be in her future, and I kept repeating “How’d you do that?”. To David, not Saoirse).
She and I sang “Off to See the Wizard,” and Dorothy-skipped down the trail. We poked sticks into decaying tree trunks, and clambered over tree roots like stairs. We slowed to the speed of a 17-month-old to let Quinn practice her walking.
We carried one child piggy-back, and another on our hip. We took so many pictures that David asked if next time I could just leave the darned camera at home, already.
We kicked at what we found on the ground and marveled over the size of maple leaves, and watched ducks and herons look for lunch in the water. We covered approximately one tenth of a mile in 55 minutes.
But we did not hike.