We live in Grammie's backyard. Her brick house has a long wooden ramp off the back porch for easy access for the elder members of our family. But no one delights more in this ramp than August. Every sunshine moment, he asks to race trucks on Grammie's ramp.
In the afternoon, after the boys wake from their naps, we drive the trucks over to Grammie's ramp. August runs up and down the ramp, pushing his yellow metal Tonka truck. I kick his blue plastic truck up the ramp to him. The wheels are smaller than the Tonka wheels so it gets stuck often. Boston squeals in my arms. To the joy of both boys, I sit Boston in the back of the blue truck and push him up the ramp, down the ramp and through the grassy yard. They giggle in delight.