When my children were young, as in the toddler-terrible-twos stage, I don’t remember them being this active. Or maybe they were. Maybe toddlers haven’t changed. It’s me. I know. Life with my grandson makes me look back and wonder just how I got over.Never mind the typical exchanges with a toddler: the pull-up changes; Intro to Potty Training 101; whole handprints on a newly cleaned patio door; constant climbing, running, jumping, and spinning; never-ending questions (or rather question attempts. they’re mostly baby babble); distasteful food simply spat out to dribble down one’s shirt or if he’s being polite, he will release the unwanted food into his palm and offer it back; pouring milk/juice/water out on a table to use as finger paint – leaving lovely decorations. No. I’m talking about how much a toddler helps me understand myself.
First, I believe I have some mild form of, oh, I don’t know. Let’s just say I cannot enjoy furniture if it’s dirty or enjoy looking at my front lawn (or the neighbor’s for that matter) if a piece of debris has landed there. I tell people that the debris interrupts my line of vision. Is that weird? The way I see it, a person could have a million dollar (fill inthe blank). But if it’s dirty, the luster and proverbial thrill is gone. Nugget (the aforementioned grandson who will turn three-years-old in March 2021) has taught me that I get bothered by things being all over, under, and out of place. The decorative couch pillows are reassigned as building supplies for a fort. And never mind that he still likes me to carry him around on my hip and has the nerve to swing his legs back and forth! My back, knees, and right forearm muscle are spilling all my secrets. But I must say that witnessing toddlerhood does have its advantages.
I once watched Nugget take a coaster from the table and potpourri from a bowl to build some sort of deco art. I knew it was his masterpiece because he shouted, “Oook! oook!” and waited for my approval. I obliged him by applauding and shouting, “Bravo! Bravo!” while giving him commentary on how magnificent it was. He smiled toothily, poked out his belly (he doesn’t know how to poke out his chest), and swung his arms back and forth in delight. He has an untainted appreciation for all music, and his favorite song (other than Happy Birthday) is Din Daa Daa by George Kranz. Please, I beg of you to look up the lyrics (video optional). Nugget looked at a picture of an owl and told me it was “mad.” His doodle with some markers was so beautiful, his mother framed it. After racing back and forth in the living room and transferring the dog’s food from one bowl to another, I said to him in a deep voice, “Get up there, and sit down!” To which he responded in words of the same tone. Now, I know he will need correction to some behavior, but to this I could only laugh. And we laugh a lot.
So. I’ve decided that spending time with Nugget and enduring his messes is what life is all about. After all, he won’t be this age for long. Who cares if there’s a goat in the dishwasher and an M under the stove? There’s an entire zoo in my purse. And that’s just fine by me.
No comments:
Post a Comment