The forgotten jolt of a crisp autumn chill met my bare arms this morning, as I tip-toed across the dewy lawn; a three-year-old boy jetting ahead in hot pursuit of the garbage truck. For the past five weeks I've been nannying for three children under eight; they have kept me on my toes. Master Three is absolutely obsessed with garbage trucks. I mean, you have never seen anyone, so besotted. He has in his possession enough toy trucks to launch a fleet. I have a feeling he one day will. At the telltale screeching brakes of the garbage truck this morning, he launched to the front door like a shot. The pure elation on his face as he waved to the driver and chased that truck, driveway to driveway, around the street. I saw a chuckle from the cab's side mirror as the truck rounded the corner, out of view. Master Three came running back, bubbling, beaming, churning out sunshine from his little face. The highlight of his week. We watch YouTube videos of garbage trucks most afternoons. This is my work life right now. I'm okay with that. Mid-video, he turns to me and says, "I want that truck for my birthday [in October]. Do you want it for *your* birthday?" He waits expectantly. Wanting to be truthful, I initially answered no, I would prefer some big girl things. He does not accept this response. He does not ask why, he simply restates the question: "Do you want a garbage truck for your birthday?" This time I say, "Yes. Then I'll come right over and give it to you." He seems happy with this. 

They are a handful. But when this stint is over I will miss little moments like these. 

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