Garbage Truck

 Every Tuesday morning Benson runs 

into my room squealing with anticipation and excitement. He points his chubby finger toward the window and says, "mmm, mmm." Benson doesn't talk yet (he is turning 2 in November). Besides "Mom, Dad and Uh-oh" he only communicates with little grunts and "mmm's." I don't know any way to really articulate what it sounds like...but anyway, back to his blonde fluffy hair and Fred Flintstones feet pouncing into my room...

Outside the sounds of a heavy engine and squeaking breaks grow closer. It's the garbage truck! Benson runs back down the hallway, grabs the step stool from his bathroom and runs back into my room placing the stool carefully by the large bay window. I smile and encourage the excitement by saying something like, "Oh my! Is that the garbage truck, Loa!? Let mommy help you." (Ps: "Lo-A" is one of Benson's many nicknames).

I then draw the blinds and watch him peek over the window ledge on his tip toes. 

Benson has a strange fascination and fear of the garbage trucks that visit our neighborhood every week. For the longest time I would come into his room to find him crying in terror and pointing out his window at the garbage truck. 

It has just been the past few months that he has embraced the garbage truck with more fascination than fear. He is such a darling, happy, chubby boy.

He really is my joy.

It's such a blessing to watch him grow.