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I hope to never forget how Grace bounces on her hobby horse.
A gift from Uncle Jim long before she was ready, the horse gathered dust in our family room for years.
But now, how they ride.
This is awesome! she yells, bouncing so high that her hair flies up over her head and falls only halfway down before she springs back up again, snapping it hard against her neck.
Across the room, I feed and rock my little baby, unaffected by her sister’s frenetic ride.
I’m like a real cowgirl! she gasps.
Stopping suddenly, she waves her arms. Now, how are we going to get over this big boulder?! A frown. Oh, I know! It’s Pixie Dust time!
The Pixie Dust makes her begin anew, bouncing high and rocking the horse’s metal frame. I’m holding on tight! Wheeee!
How she bounces, nestled between the bookshelf and drying laundry.
She springs up and down, down and up, then slows and begins to rock, front to back, back to front.
Stopping, she talks to herself in a voice too low for my ears. I know from experience not to interrupt.
Well, I guess we’d better get going.
Starts, stops, starts, stops again.
Her horse calm, she is out of breath. She gestures to the wall ahead of her. Now, WHAT is a basketball doing in the middle of the road? That is something you don’t see every day. Hmm!
And then she’s off again, bounding over the imaginary basketball, back on her way.
She bounces, the horse’s shiny black frame rising and falling with each imaginary gallop, reminiscent of my childhood swing set.
Mom! We’re going to be late for school! You’d better get on your horse and get moving!
She screams, and I look up from my baby’s eyes, worried about a finger somehow pinched in a spring. But then, Let’s go! Vamonos! Faster!
The springs rock and rise and fall.
She rides and bounces and never arrives.
© 2011 – 2012, Tara Ziegmont. All rights reserved.