Visiting the beach

Reggie was in the wars a bit this week, but his worst altercation was with the concrete floor after church last Sabbath because he persists in treating the pram like a cross between a race car and a jungle gym and leapt headfirst out of it, gashing his eyebrow open.  A couple of steristrips sorted that out and it has almost healed now but I did wonder how concussed he might be when we went down to watch Brent play basketball one night before dinner and Reggie declared he was going to the beach.  (It’s unlikely enough that there’s a basketball court in the middle of that giant field, let alone a beach.)  But it turns out this is what he meant:

The volleyball courts are basically just giant sandpits, so for a three-year old it’s just like the beach, even if the sand is a little… dirtier.  Reggie showed Lucy how to play and eventually she got right into it.

Half a dozen other kids of similar size came to join the fun and it was all cake-making-in-dump-trucks and digging-holes-to-bury-soccer-balls until it was almost dark and we hiked home up the hill, straight into the bath.

PS. Reggie has also had a haircut, courtesy of his father.  I could hardly conceal my mirth when Brent set him up on the chair and then knelt down beside him, announcing, “We will start with a prayer.”  Hardly a way to inspire faith in your client, I thought.  But Brent was most confounded that I thought it was funny; the prayer was for Reggie to stay still.  He didn’t, really, though, so using the scissors was rather short-lived and his hair all came off in a matter of moments with the clippers.

PPS. On Friday we took a taxi south to Namaka, and that driver had just bought a new van.  Either he hadn’t taken the plastic wrap off the seats yet or he’d bought shower caps ‘specially to protect them, but either way, I had to record it with a picture.