Because it is chasing, bending, picking up, and major play. It is helping Wiley throw eight basketballs into a green wheelbarrow and getting them out again and doing this one hundred times. Then he sits on the second step to roll basketballs off the edge. He waves at me to give them back. Then he pitches pecans at the tree trunk and wants me to retrieve them. They are small and hide in the leaves. But he knows if I find the right one. Also he wants me to climb the ladder (only to the third step) holding him under one arm so he can poke the fat basketball through the lowered hoop. Sitting? That’s a joke. He wraps the baby doll in a piece of green tissue paper and eats Cheerios at the same time. No! He doesn’t want me to give the baby doll a Cheerio! He wants to roll cars into a parking lot in the corner and speed them over my feet. Wiley helps me remember where I came from. I love him for more than one reason. I love his clean purpose, his careful eye. His pure glee when the pecan hits hard and bounces off.
