A Moment of Silence. The tea kettle steam breathes to my right. I can think for a moment as I listen for you on my left. I consider things besides easel paper, muddy shoes, matching games, where your tiger is NOW and when does Grandpa come back and can I have a cookie and some juice, please. I trimmed your nails then read you a story. Now you are napping. It was hard to stick to the napping plan. Never my favorite thing to insist about, but necessary for a guy who was awakened by the dog barking before 6 am. You rarely stop moving. You run and squeal for the dog to chase you and she does. You grab a puzzle piece and notice the easel and put the piece down on the tray to pick up the brush one arm hugging your tiger. If you don’t hide or carry the tiger, Georgia the dog or Metro the beagle get it. You shout, eyebrowns squinched down, NO, that tiger is MINE!
You sing as you play, any song we have just sung. You move every object in the house from one place to another place; every hour on the hour. I have discovered many teachable moments already and you look at me strangely when I remind you, lets put these away before you dump these others out so you don’t step on them. “No, I don’t think so,” you say. Then grandpa stepped on one-OUCH… he growled. Little red things and yellow, called Zoobs, I think. Now you pick them up each time. (Just this toy). You love the tiny rubber babies, setting them in small wooden bowls I provided and tiny carpet squares I used for one-to-one correspondence games with them years back. Ella liked them, too. You both talk to them in adapted voices, high and sweet saved for babies. Its very sweet. People in Montana must show lots of special attention to the babies. You are kind kissing one after you drop it on the floor.
We stopped and took Grammie some lunch and a pot of spring flowers. Uncle Mike made some warm cookies and they were still warm. We went to the hardware store, stopped in at the shop and the rental to get construction reports. Today the overhead door installation is happening while the paint is getting finished up, named “sublime”, and the rental cabin got its wall insulation installed and you told Jim the wall was really nice. We had to remind you not to touch it. Jim’s making me a new house, you told me, with soft, fuzzy pink walls.
I’m going to pick up a few toys, take the 20 tiny rubber dolls out of my bed, scrub the paint off the floor and remove the red pegs from the freezer. I can’t recall your idea about that. It had something to do with strawberry popsicles. Then I will write for a moment before I forget all of the delightful things you do. I was so exhausted that I forgot to notice. A nap is important for for you and helps me enjoy you, too. I handed you my wooden music box and pulled the door closed. Then after about five minutes, I peeked back in-you propped a big baby doll on your chest, “Baby Lindsay,” you said, “let’s trim your nails, it won’t hurt, honey.” And one by one, on each of her miniature fingers, you planted a kiss. Ten kisses and then ten more for her toes. And you rolled over and into sleep. Some good things are happening to you, little guy. I feel encouraged and the twenty minutes respite helped me notice. Let’s do it again tomorrow.