"Don't Blink"

Until a short time ago, aside from cooking and pot walloping, the most exhausting thing I might have been expected to achieve after four in the afternoon, was cleaning my bong. I mention this in passing because yesterday, when I got the text message to come on over, it was already 4:15. 

We had set it up that morning, Dancing Girl and I, that Papi would come over in the afternoon to be with Little Man. What’s truly ironic is that when my interaction with Little Man began, shortly before his first birthday, I had been firm that my visits be confined to mornings, if at all possible.

I wanted to be at my best.

As extraordinary as it seems [to me] all that has changed. I have become imbued with a force that can’t possibly be described as adrenaline, and yet seems to function as adrenaline’s little sister. 

I regard this force as feminine because my energy has the power of a Sherman tank, and yet is as gentle as a falling oak leaf. How much energy does it require to follow a 14-month-old child around? On the one hand when I am done I am drained; on the other my soul has dancing shoes on, every minute of the time I spend with this little human.

He is a congenial lad, with a passion for wheels. Right now, most of the time his interest is focused on placing any vehicle with said round orbs, on its back, so that we can spin them around and around. Spinning our wheels, you might say. Whereas, this may seem pointless, it is good practice for life.

Monday found Little Man engaged in a new [for him] activity, pulling a little wooden duck-on-wheels around behind him. And right behind that duck, of course, was Papi. I would follow behind him on his route, eleven-teen hundred times, if that was the sole item on the activity log that day.

When the duck needs a rest and Little Man expands his attention to his assortment of playthings, the “activity” log takes on a slightly different look. My activity consists in being the trusty sidekick of my partner-in-crime, and I can’t do that towering over him.

I do what comes most naturally, and sprawl out on the floor, so that we are on the same level, until such time as Little Man makes a run for it. I see field and track in this lad’s future, not to mention baseball. Then I must forget that my beard has long since turned gray, and spring up like the daffodils, after the snow melts away, and race after him.

It only hurts if I allow myself to notice it, so I don’t.

Because music accompanies me everywhere I go, or is provided where I end up, it seems natural to make as much music as is humanly possible. Little Man gets it: He plays the xylophone, the bongos, the tambourine; he shakes the balls with rice inside, he claps his hands and he dances.   

The time “Shut Up and Let Me Go,” by the Ting Tings came on, his face lit up like a bottle rocket, and he started rhythmically bouncing to the music. It warmed the cockles of my heart and I started bouncing as well. And why not? When I stop dancing, put me out of my misery, puh-lease.

Frankly, there is far too much on my plate these days, for me to be spending time with a little munchkin. The reality, however, is that simply because there IS so much to do, and I can never really be caught up, I can justify anything. 

There is nothing in my universe more important to me than Little Man, and that includes tomatoes, so there’s that.

When the time for grub came along yesterday, Little Man was in his high chair, manhandling his lunch, I was seated in front of him, and Little Man’s dad was at the kitchen counter. As is sometimes the case, I was swept with a wave of emotion, as I replayed scenes out of the past of me feeding SmallBoy in a similar chair. 

I glanced over to Little Man’s pops and said, “Don’t blink or it will be you sitting where I am, while Little Man is standing at the counter, and a mini-Little Man is sitting in this chair. You know?”

I am slated to traipse over to visit again today and I could not be more pleased. The tomatoes will get planted out, as well as the snapdragons, zinnias, cosmos, bells of Ireland, black-eyed Susans, coleus, alyssum, sunflowers, marigolds, bachelor buttons, and peonies bulbs-eventually. The weed-eating and the mulching will get done, as well as the completion of the watering-system refurbishment. 

Everything I mentioned will get done and twenty different chores will have replaced them on the list, and I will still put Little Man first. It is one of those many perks of the aging process: I get to do what I want, when I want, and right now, I want to spend time with a little dude with a bright, happy smile, whose face lights up when he sees me.

It makes my face light up too.

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