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Wednesday, March 11, 2015

On the value of play, which I am pleased both of my boys still do (and the oldest's girlfriend as well, which is one more reason I adore her)

Shel Silverstein being the oldest's childhood favorite, I used to read this poem among others aloud in the evenings, especially on days when they got exquisitely dirty. Now only George explores the yard enthusiastically, but both are still incredibly playful, especially when dragged to different settings.

I think I will pull out Where the Sidewalk Ends tonight at bedtime.

Dirty Face

Where did you get such a dirty face,
My darling dirty-faced child?

I got it from crawling along in the dirt
And biting two buttons off Jeremy’s shirt.
I got it from chewing the roots of a rose
And digging for clams in the yard with my nose.
I got it from peeking into a dark cave
And painting myself like a Navajo brave.
I got it from playing with coal in the bin
And signing my name in cement with my chin.
I got it from rolling around on the rug
And giving the horrible dog a big hug.
I got it from finding a lost silver mine
And eating sweet blackberries right off the vine.
I got it from ice cream and wrestling and tears
And from having more fun than you’ve had in years.
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