Night, night

You got a cough, have a runny nose and a bit of a fever.  You just headed off to bed with those sick-kid, fever-rosy cheeks that I’d almost forgotten about. Snot, pee in pants, plops of poo dropped near the toilet, skidded across the seat and explosion sneezes on the fresh shirt I just put on. A 3 year old’s body slime.  No different to you than jam on your chin, sandy, muddy shoes and dirt caked knees.  Debris, goo and ga-ga packaged in warm, reaching, sticky snuggles.  Different activities; one thing after another, a sequence of everything I know that a little kid likes all within the first few hours of the day.  He’s an explorer, this one.  Like his Daddy.  But who remembers 28 years ago? memememe

You enjoy interactions with people who drop by and ask for them to come by again-wanting me to invite them back at meal times.  There’s some fun living in a crowded place, isn’t there buddy?.  Lots of people to talk to, play with and when one doesn’t work out, you can move on to another.  I must seem so uninteresting, even though I really give it my all and sing, run around, fall in the wet grass and I walk with you whenever you want (3 or 4 times a day) to see your “new house” as you call it.  I continue to refer to it as your old house.  I have to keep saying that you that you are in Bonny Doon on vacation.

Mom asked me if I thought they should come back.  I was stricken with dry mouth, stuck to the roof, my thickened tongue locked against wordless teeth.  She went on, “We’ll give it our all but if we can’t make it we’ll have to swallow our pride and come back, I guess.”  I managed one word, “Teeth.” What? she asked.  You’ll have your teeth fixed, and continues, learn to drive, stop smoking and be sure you have income before you consider returning, right?  Really.  And besides, I said, there’s no house for you.  We are living in the rental until our remodel is done.  Well, we’ll hold out until summer, she offers. Keep thinking about what you wanted to accomplish, I suggest and change the subject. There’s no house until the end of the year, realistically, but I feel protective of it and worry about the stress of the proximity.  Don’t think about it, I decide.

I’m sure enjoying hanging out with you.  I tell Mom, you put on a bit of weight since I saw you in January.  Foodstamps, she suggests. He’s very relaxed, sleeps well and is a delight to chat with about what interests him. ( machinery, nature, the sky, moon and clouds, bugs, Metro, tools and the car and truck) You waited for the jumper cables to start the car after you left the door open with the light on  in the Prius. You sense of humor is wonderful (mine has to be too), your way of expressing yourself sounds so familiar like Daddy.  “The battery went out, you have to jump it, okay.  Its too big to jump grandma, but you should buy a new battery though.” hahaha

Grandpa had you helping with carpentry today and as you handed over a screw, you cover your ears ready for the sound of the drill.  Each time, you reach for a screw, hold it out, “Here, grandpa,” hands fly up over each ear. Finally you said, “I’m sick of all this noise.”

Okay, little guy, there might some lessons here about change, expectations and making plans. I have some thinking to do.  I was just beginning to like our visiting relationship. Tell your daddy and mommy: Where ever we go you take ourselves. That can be tough, and its the good part, too. gma

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