I always watch as The Boy waits for the school bus in the morning in front of our home. Some days he just stands there. Sometimes he’ll play with fallen sticks, or leaves, or the pretty keys from the maple tree overhead. Sometimes he’ll sing to himself softly. Or loudly (as is his want). On this particular morning he felt disposed to practice his high kick.
First, the wind-up…
I think the goal was to get the foot above the head.
Success is sweet, isn’t it?
Have yourself a high-kicking kind of week-end.