Standing Rib Roast
Baby girl, why are you under the table? Are you hiding, out of fear or fun? Are you kneeling in prayer? Are you resting your head, weary from the exertions of being a one-year-old? Or perhaps you're taking cover from an earthquake or Mayan apocalypse.
Ah, I see. No, you're just getting your feet set so you can stand. You're on your way up.
While we were back home visiting last month, Juliette and I took the kids to Dennis the Menace Park, one of my favorite playgrounds when I was a kid. It had rained the night before, and little rivulets ran down a tall plastic slide in the middle of the park. It had been a metal slide when I was young, wide enough for three or four kids at once, and fast with two humps that ran down the side of the hill. I heard that someone decided that the metal got too hot in the summer, and replaced it out of worries over burned legs--something that somehow never seemed to happen to any of us, back when.
Jason, of course, didn't know any of that, and wouldn't have cared if he did. He only cared that the slide was slow, and that his bottom got wet.