What an ARM!

Rock hand cocked and loaded.

I'm not sure how one "rates" a toddler arm.

I mean, when you're under two, you're still working out all the kinks of HAVING an arm.

Just a mere 18 months ago, I watched my little boy blob FIND his arms and use them to knock bright shiny things hanging in front of him. Occasionally, staring at the fleshy appendage as if it was invading his dance space.

But recently...along with complex words like "sensitive" and "girlfriend", Dylan has discovered the glory of throwing.

We never went through a "dropsy" phase as a baby. He was content to let things just sit in front of him.

But he must have saved up all that pent up baby tossing energy because now we have entered the zone known as "Throw Rocks."

Dylan would like to throw rocks into the pond 24 hours a day.

In fact, there is not a SINGLE rock of throwable size AROUND the pond anymore.

We've had to explore the woods and stake out a quarry. We drive our dump truck down the woodsy path, around the pricker bushes and load it up with rocks dime sized to softball sized.

It is a complicated endeavor that requires sweating and mosquitoes but it is essential b/c Dylan can go through a truck load of rocks in 2 minutes flat.

 Heading to the quarry.

I liked throwing rocks at the beginning. My husband likes to laugh about how "boyish" the obsession of "throwing rocks" is.

But after two days of endless throwing. I've decided that we may need rock throwing rehab.

And soon the pond will actually not BE a pond and instead become a quarry. And the fish! the poor fish! It must feel like WWII down there with all these rock missiles being launched from above.

This weekend we may be having a rock throwing intervention.