Now that I have grandchildren, I continue to have
flashbacks to my own child- and motherhood.
My grandsons are now six, four, and 18 months; my granddaughter,
approaching four. If laughter is the
best medicine, I should be healthy as a horse.
Boone, the six- almost seven-year-old, is well on his way
to being named Class Clown. He loves to
provoke a laugh and will go to any lengths to bring about that laughter. One of his shticks involves putting odd
things on his head, and once, this was a whole grapefruit. He marched into the living room, sporting the
fruit, and I said, “Take that grapefruit off your head right this minute!” The moment those words left my lips, I
laughed aloud, thereby encouraging the bad behavior. What can I say? He makes me laugh. Not too long ago, he wrapped a pompom into copier paper
and taped it securely. Knowing the
desired response, I unwrapped it and put it behind my ear. He laughed.
I laughed. His brother, 41/2, looked up and said, “That’s not funny.”
Rowan makes me laugh, too. Not too long ago, while he and his brother
were playing dress-up, Boone got into full super hero costume. Rowan’s costume consisted of Disney underwear,
a cape, a sword, and a frightfully well-articulated do rag. And, he was astride a rocking
horse. He wasn’t laughing. I was. He spent three hours with me and without
Boone a few weeks ago He had brought a
huge cloth shopping bag of toys with him, and I keep a few things here. We built a few structures with blocks, boxes, and books,
half-heartedly played superheros, and then spotted my stick
notes. “I could play with those,” he
said, tossing aside Superman and Batman.
He then spent an hour applying stick notes to my ottoman. After this intensely creative project, he
said, “There. That looks better, “and
then he went over to the couch, plopped down, and said, “I’m not tired. I’m just doing what Boone does. He sits on the couch after play, right? This not a nap.”
Next comes Greer, the girl among the boys. She’s not yet four but is quite the
fashionista. After she’s bathed and
dressed in pajamas, been read to and tucked in, she waits until everyone is
gone, then gets up and puts on a dress.
It’s a bit of a surprise to see what she’s wearing when morning
comes. She will not wear just any dress
either. It has to have a spin-worthy
aspect to it. If a dress won’t twirl, it
just won’t do. She’s not too prissy to
play ball or rumble with her brother or cousins. She just likes to look good while she’s at
it. Greer did play T-ball and seemed to
love it, but she wore her team jersey with a shirt or atop a dress. She, like
Rowan, doesn’t always appreciate my sense of humor. While we were playing in her back yard, I
picked up a stick and said, “Bibbity Bobby Boo!” then waved it. “You just turned into a pumpkin,” I
said. “I’m a girl,” she retorted, then
looked at me as if I were quite mad. Apparently, my humor is just too
sophisticated for the three to four-year-old.
Lane is the youngest, and he thinks I’m a riot. He runs everywhere, so much so that his
preschool teachers call him “Fast Lane.” And no
matter what I do, if I mean to be amusing, he laughs. Since I think I’m funny,
I do like an appreciative audience. If I
make a fish face, he laughs. If I stick
my head around a corner, he laughs. It’s
going to break my heart when he reaches three and finds me less and less
amusing.
I may enjoy the fun of grand-motherhood, but I am also a
stickler for some things, primarily: You make the mess. You clean the mess. I can usually get them to
do this, but not always. A year ago,
Boone would sometimes test me. Once, I’d
told him to pick up his toys, and he told me it wasn’t his job. Comments like this turn me into a principled
but stubborn woman. “It is your job.
I didn’t put the cars on the floor.” And on it went. He finally put away the cars, but I longingly
wished he’d reached my grand-nephew’s epiphany:
When Will was about six, his four-year-old sister,
Carter, was arguing with me about doing something she was not permitted to do.
“It’s no use, Carter,” he said. “Keen
always wins.” Now that’s what I call progress.
I’m waiting for the rest of them to reach this conclusion. Ha!
