Mark runs all the time. And when he doesn’t run, he either climbs something—a chair, the stairs—or cries because he fell down or tripped on something.
The first thing he did in Saint Michel was to run down the dirt stairs. He ran too fast, tripped and fell own. “Mark, slow down! See, this is what happens when you go too fast. Go slower next time.”
I cleaned up his knee and sighed. Just a few weeks ago, I had never seen blood on my little boy. Now, he is scrapping his knees on a daily basis. The first time, we made a big deal out of it—Feng cleaned up the wound with alcohol, we put a bandage on it and we were that close to call the best plastic surgeon around to make sure the two-millimetre-wide injury wasn’t going to be a permanent scar.
Two hours later, he fell don again and hurt the other knee. We skipped the bandage.
Now, as long as he doesn’t need a blood transfusion, we just blow a kiss on the bump or the wound.
“Mark, remember? Slow down in the stairs.”
Twenty minutes later, I heard Feng screaming “slow down!” and Mark wailing on top of his lungs. The cheek, this time. Man, I told you to slow down!
So we took him to the beach. As long as he stays away from the rocks, he can run as much as he wants on the sand. The tide was unusually low, so he had the entire beach to himself.
And oh boy, he runs.
And occasionally stops to eat sand.
And runs some more.
You can see the complete set of pictures taken in France on Flickr.