A Difficult Ascent

Frodo stared at the steep incline with determination. He would reach the top. He would! Starting out once more, he’d gone no more than a few steps before wobbling and falling down. Tears of exhaustion and frustration gathered at the corners of his eyes, but he refused to give up. Crawling on hands and knees, he struggled and slid down and struggled some more. As he slid back to the bottom once more, a shadow swooped down and he was plucked from the ground.

"I’ve got you now!" a deep voice growled.

"Nooooo!" Frodo struggled and wailed, trying to free himself from the grip that held him suspended in air.

"Come, my little lad, it’s time for your nap."

Frodo continued to struggle and cry as his Da carried him away from the slanted board he’d been trying to ascend, but it was to no avail. In mere moments his captor had carried him inside, washed his face, hands and feet, changed his nappy, and settled him into his little trundle bed.

Frodo pouted up at his Da, tears still glimmering in his eyes. "No nap," he muttered defiantly. "Mou’an’."

The board was a new addition to Frodo’s playthings. Drogo had set the board up with one end raised about a foot off the ground, and had shown his little lad how to climb up the steps at the back to reach the top, then slide down the board to the ground. Of course, Frodo had no interest in the steps and had spent the entire morning trying, with no great success, to climb up the length of slippery wood, claiming it was a mountain. It had been vastly entertaining to watch, but the poor little lad was worn out from his efforts, eyes even now drifting shut.

Drogo smiled down at his beautiful little baby. Frodo was nearly two years old and Drogo still marveled over him every single day.

"Shh," he whispered, running his fingers through Frodo’s short, silky curls. "Sleep, Frodo. Your mountain will still be here when you wake up." Rubbing his little lad’s back soothingly, he hummed a wordless lullaby, watching as Frodo rubbed closed eyes with tiny fists, yawned loudly and snuggled into his blanket, suddenly and completely surrendering himself to sleep.

The first thing he said when he woke up was, "Mou’an!" He repeated this demand all through tea until his mother finally finished and helped him down from his high chair and sent him out the door into the golden afternoon. Seating herself on a bench with a basket of mending, she watched her little lad as he once again approached the board, determined to conquer his ‘mountain.’

Once again, Frodo found himself staring up at the mountain, determined to succeed this time. With a fresh burst of energy he approached the incline. He placed one small but tough foot on the board, and then the other. Feeling his balance waver, he quickly leaned forward and threw his hands down to either side of the board, holding himself in place. The tip of his tongue sticking out of the corner of his mouth in concentration, he worked his way up the board, walking his feet up and holding on with his hands. In this manner, it was very short work indeed before he found himself at the summit.

"Dada!" he shouted in triumph. "Mama! Twimed mou’an!