Where the Sidewalk Ends

I must first give credit to Shel Silverstein for the title of my blog. This is one of my absolute favorite poems of all time:

Where the Sidewalk Ends

There is a place where the sidewalk ends
And before the street begins,
And there the grass grows soft and white,
And there the sun burns crimson bright,
And there the moon-bird rests from his flight
To cool in the peppermint wind.

Let us leave this place where the smoke blows black
And the dark street winds and bends.
Past the pits where the asphalt flowers grow
We shall walk with a walk that is measured and slow,
And watch where the chalk-white arrows go
To the place where the sidewalk ends.

Yes we'll walk with a walk that is measured and slow,
And we'll go where the chalk-white arrows go,
For the children, they mark, and the children, they know
The place where the sidewalk ends.

I chose this as the title of my blog because of Grady. We have been taking Grady and Hudson on walks in the neighborhood, and there is actually a place where the sidewalk ends along our walking path. Jason had taken them on that particular route, then I took them the following day. When we came to the place where the sidewalk ends, Grady was adamant that we must STOP and go no further because that is where Daddy had stopped and turned around the previous day. He was sure that we could not venture past the end of the sidewalk, except he was a little upset because just past that spot, there were "beautiful flowers" growing that he wanted to see. I assured him we could go on past the end of the sidewalk to see the flowers, but I really felt like I took a little of his childhood magic away when I did so. He was content to turn around and pick some wild flowers (a.k.a. "weeds") along the path home. When we got home I had a nice little collection of yellow, pink and purple flowers - chosen and picked especially for me. Ah, the joys of mothering little boys ...