Oh fall and all the colorful crunching leaves on the ground. There is nothing more enticing than a freshly mounded up pile of leaves. Unless you are Coen. And you are trying to see how high your leaf pile can get without disturbance. The past few days, we've been playing out in the yard and Coen has a near coronary whenever anyone goes near his leaf pile. Takes a LEAF from his leaf pile. "Get away from my leaf pile!!!" He'll scream in terror, "Please?" He'll add at the end, catching my eye. Or he'll try another tactic. "Ohh, Lucy! Look at that other leaf pile! You should go and check THAT one out!" Of course, his sister, having learned the dreadful art of sibling antagonism from none other than big brother himself, will go over to his leaf pile, a look on her face, that mirrors his own at times like these, and tap the top of it with yellow plastic rake. "Don't!" He'll shriek.
I am not sure whether to police things such as this or not. I mean for heaven's sake, its a LEAF pile! It's meant for little children to jump in. And then for public works to haul it away when it's in a cold wet lump on the side of the road.
And YESTERDAY, a neighbor parked on the side of our house and their dog jumped out and immediately relieved himself in Coen's leaf pile. I didn't dare tell him. Can you imagine!?
Today, however, Coen opened his leaf pile to the public and the whole neighborhood jumped in it, somersaulted through it, threw its leaves into the air, covered each other in it and sat in its crispy loveliness. It was the stuff of childhood memories.
Oh. I didn't tell any of them about the dog pee either.