I watched from my perch above, having just opened the window. The fresh, warm air pushed in like water bursting forth from a dam. I felt it smother me before a breeze of the wind flushed the heat from my face. I laid hidden from my entertainers, they unaware of what they were, and me, their unseen audience.

The sun danced between the branches and the little buds of leaves starting to form. Shadows began forming and almost gesticulating on the grass below. I watched as the occasional breeze blew a stray leaf into a frenzy of somersaults, while the others were forced into their gymnastics by my husband’s and son’s rakes.

They, more specifically my husband, were taking advantage of the beautiful, Spring-like day to attack are neglected yard. What few trees we have are bare to the bone and have been for months now after shedding their foliage. As usual, we put off yard work as long as possible. We’re not afraid of the work, the character or strength it builds, or the feeling of accomplishment at the end of a long day’s work. No, we’d just rather be outside doing other things.

As Davey has grown older, he’s idolized his daddy more and more. To quote the words of King Louie from the Jungle Book, Davey likes to say about his daddy, “I want talk like you, walk like you, be like you.” There are a lot worse things in life than a young boy worshipping his father. So, to see Davey “working” hard alongside his daddy really just swells my heart.

I, unfortunately, was banished inside over the weekend, suffering the consequences of a stomach bug that seems to be floating around. My husband took over parenting responsibilities solo and managed to maintain the house as well, but decided to go a step further and rake the leaves. This is where my entertainment began.

I stood above, at our bathroom window, watching and listening as Davey talked to his daddy. I watched my husband continue to rake, not skipping a beat regardless of what Davey told him. I stifled a chuckle, but still smiled happily when Davey dropped his rake and patting his chest said, “Daddy, this is my Captain America shirt.” My husband responded with, “that’s right, buddy.” Then the conversation continued much to my amusement.

“Mommy, bought this shirt for me at Wal-Mart,” Davey said.

“It’s a good shirt, buddy,” my husbanded replied while attacking the pile of leaves.

“I wore it to the Y and mommy came in and said, ‘what’s going up, Captain America?'” Davey replied.

“Are you sure mommy didn’t say, ‘what’s up’ or ‘what’s going on’?” my husband asked.

“Mmmm. She said, ‘what’s going up, Captain America’, because I was wearing a Captain America shirt. Isn’t it a great shirt, daddy?” Davey asked.

“Captain America is a great shirt,” my husband said as he viciously shook out the folds of a lawn bag, before stuffing them down into the garbage can. I tried to imagine being down on the ground with them, to see the look in my husband’s eyes as Davey became the reincarnate of a Chatty Cathy doll with a broken string.

Davey continued on, as my husband raked. With each heave of the rake, Davey had something new to say. Was my husband truly listening to him or was he just going through the motions? Was he rolling his eyes? Was he silently chuckling? Or was he doing just as I was doing and becoming amazed at the thoughts that were rolling forth from our son’s mouth.

Once upon a time, my husband and I used to work our yard in peace and quiet. We focused on our task at hand and girded ourselves for what needed to be done. Our work went along much quicker then, especially seeing as how every five seconds we didn’t hear, “Daddy, turn your eyes around and look at me while I’m talking.”

Some days, I cringe at the thought of what could possibly come out of my child’s mouth. What sort of story is he going to regale us with today? Will it be true or something fictional and of the own inner workings of his brain. Some days, I watch him as he tells us stories. I’m convinced I can see the wheels and cogs spinning in his brain as his heart pumps out the love that fills the stories. I wonder how long it takes for him to come up with what he wants to say. What sort of effort goes into them? But for the most part, I love my daily stories from Davey, everything from dragons who fight, planes who speaks, and penguins who karate chop their way into the storybook of our lives. We even hear stories of Jesus, Noah, and Moses. It’s never a dull moment and I’m thankful for them every day.