WHERE'S THE .... WHAT?

I just came across this while cleaning up the files on my computer.  Nearly three years after writing it, I laughed again as I read it.....

Matt was at the house for a few minutes this afternoon and called Dawn, who had watched a movie with me while a realtor showed their house, to ask a question.  Their telephone exchange went like this:

Matt asked, "Where's the mayo?"

"In the refrigerator."

"Where in the refrigerator?!"

"On the shelf...."

"Why is it in the refrigerator?!?!?"

Dawn looked at me with a puzzled look on her face and replied, "Because that's where the mayo is kept."

Silence.

Then, "I said mail.  Where's the mail?

"Oh.  I thought you said mayo.  The mail is still in the mailbox.  I didn't bring it in yesterday."

Click.

Dawn and I laughed so hard I had to pause the movie.  We could see Matt, a puzzled expression on his face as he looked at the phone, wondering why the mail was in the fridge, then shaking his head in exasperation as he walked out to the mailbox.

Dawn said she's going to put the mail in the fridge tomorrow.

IT'S GOING TO BE A LONG SUMMER (June 2007)

This is Sophia’s first week out of school for the summer.  Dawn now drops her off here at 9:00 on her way to work.  Brandon will be out on the 7th.  It's going to be a long summer.

Sophia arrived as expected this morning.  It seems that she prefers to eat breakfast here.  Apparently my Pop-Tarts taste better than the ones at their house.

Sophia and Kelsi finally got together around 10:30.  They played together very well.  An occasional she-did-this or she-won't-let-me-play-with-that, but way better than a year ago.

Sherry fixed them lunch and when they were finished, we put water in their little wading pool.  Of course, after a few minutes of sitting and playing with the water toys, their imaginations went to work.  While Sherry and I sat nearby, the girls suddenly disappeared from eyesight.  Then they were back at the pool.  And then they were gone.  Sherry saw them go into her garage.  When Sherry asked what they were doing with the water, Sophia replied that they were drinking it.  (Sure they were!)  Instead they were filling glasses with water and dumping the contents on the potted flowers in the cozy seating area in the garage.  An area covered with several rugs.  Wet rugs now.

Once they tired of the water, the girls went into Sherry's condo.  When they didn't reappear quickly, Sherry went to check on them.  She was speechless at what she found.  The girls had taken a dining room chair, moved it to the kitchen and climbed up on the counter where they could now reach the kids' suntan lotion.  Sherry found white hand prints on the chair's wooden back and Kelsi was on the kitchen counter handing napkins to Sophia so she could wipe the lotion off the carpet, tile floor and chair.  We promised ourselves then that *if* we gave them permission to go in the house again, we'd check on them every two minutes.

When Brandon came home from school, Christian was already here and the boys played catch outdoors.  Then Brandon asked if they could play with the beanbag game.  Given permission, the boys took it into my unit to play.

I gave them a couple minutes and then went to check on their behavior.  Good boys!  They were in the kitchen and throwing the beanbags through the target which they'd placed in the laundry area.  So I went back to sit with Sherry while we watched the girls playing outdoors.  Then the girls asked permission to come in to get a toy to bring outdoors.  Good girls!  But almost immediately they came back out to say the boys were throwing the bean bags at the ceiling fan in the living room (which I'd set on high) and one had hit the fan blades.  And, well, you know what happened.

Sherry and I rushed in to find itsy-bitsy plastic balls the size of BBs scattered throughout the living room -- under chairs, on table tops and behind furniture.  Brandon was given the job of vacuuming them up.  *He* thought that was great fun and had a hard time not smiling.  Christian just tried to make himself very small.

It's a good thing the kids are still young.  We can forgive their lack of good judgment.  But they're not *stupid*.  Certainly the girls (especially Sophia) knew that climbing up on the kitchen counter to get the lotion was wrong.  And most definitely the boys (especially Brandon) knew that he was not playing with the toy in the way it was to be used.

Now Sherry and I will retrain the four of them in appropriate, acceptable behavior  As I said, I envision this is going to be a long summer.

Copyright ©2007  Kitty Park

SUMMER SWIM (June 2007)

Summer days are often uncomfortably hot and the kids like to play in the small inflatable 2-ring wading pool I have for them.  It doesn’t hold much water, but they can splash each other and cool off.

One day last summer while Kelsi was taking her nap, Sophia had the pool all to herself.  She laid down and put her head on the pillow-soft top ring which allowed just enough room for her legs to stretch to the other side.  After a few minutes of hearing no chatter and no splashing, I looked up to see her totally relaxed, her eyes closed and arms floating at her sides.  I got out of my chair and upon closer inspection, I realized she was asleep.

I didn’t want to wake her (she was finally quiet, for heaven’s sake!), but I wanted her protected from the sun.  I asked Sherry to help me place the lawn chaise over the pool to put Sophia in shade.  The task was accomplished and Sophia slept on.

Several minutes later, the lawn service crew came by.  They cordially greeted me and I signaled with a finger to my lips that they should be quiet.  I received a quizzical look, so I pointed at what was in the pool under the chair.  They slowly lifted the chaise and with gentle smiles on their faces, shook their heads in amazement when they saw Sophia asleep in the water.

In order to get on with their work, the men moved the chaise into the shade of the garage and Sherry and I lifted Sophia onto it.  Once the fellows moved the pool to the driveway, they continued to mow.

And Sophia continued to sleep.

Copyright ©2007  Kitty Park

SPARKY (February 2007)

The By-Laws of this condo association specify that each owner is responsible for maintaining the yard light in front of his unit.  These lights are not only decorative but functional in that they light the path from the driveway to the front door.  A sensor turns it on and off.  Visitors who arrive after dark should find the pathway lighted for their safety.  Because of insurance liability concerns, it is mandatory that those lights work.

It seems that residents living here have had to replace those bulbs on the average of every six months.  I am an exception.  I have been here for nearly two years and that little bulb burned faithfully from that point and before.  I was thinking about naming that bulb.  Sparky perhaps.

Tuesday we suffered through miserable snow squalls.  When I went to bed Tuesday night, it burned brightly -- I could see its reflection on the bedroom ceiling.  But Wednesday night, oh, no -- *no* reflection!  In the morning, with temperatures in the teens, I wasn't about tackle the task, rules or no rules.  But yesterday, Saturday, I decided to get the job done, knowing today would be colder and the forecast for the next several days included a combination of rain and snow.

One of my neighbors who has replaced her bulb four times had told me, "The screws that are the obvious ones to get to the bulb aren't the ones you use."  I remember her saying that; I don't remember what followed.  When I looked at the lamp, I recognized the screws that obviously held the top on.  When I removed them, the top should lift off and I could change the bulb.

So I unscrewed all three and in the process dropped two in the foot of snow beneath the lamp post.  Then I discovered that these were the screws I wasn't supposed to remove.  So I replaced them (after using the snow shovel to dig for the two I'd dropped).  I cleared a place in the snow for the ladder and after climbing it, I found two fasteners on the top of the light.  After removing them and lifting the top, I was able to extract Sparky who was very dirty and sitting in the middle of the dried carcasses of dead bugs.  And look here -- Sparky was a 100 watt bulb!!!  The replacement will be a mere 40 watts.  I replaced the screws in the top, climbed down the ladder, gathered tools and moved them back into the garage.

Dusk came, but the light that should have come on failed to do so.  Crap.  I knew I should have checked the bulb before putting it in the lamp.  Come morning, I'd have to go through the process again.

While lying in bed this morning, knowing that it's still cold and probably snowing again, I remembered that some people had turned off their yard lights challenging the must-be-on rule.  There is a switch for this somewhere in the garage.  With fingers crossed, I went out and found a plug, one with a "reset" button.  I noticed that the display of the clock radio plugged into the outlet was dark.  So I pushed the reset button and the clock's green display began blinking 12:00 at me.  Somehow the night of the big snow the circuit breaker must have kicked off, killing Sparky’s glow!  Tonight I should have light at the lamp post.

So poor Sparky wasn't dead, isn't dead.  Now I'm pondering going to the trash can and pulling Sparky out, dusting it off, and perhaps displaying it in the china cabinet in honor of its long service.  I am confident that if I return it to the lamp post, it will burn out in a matter of days if not hours, and I'll have to climb that ladder again and way too soon.

Copyright ©2007  Kitty Park

HAPPY DANCE (January 2007)

The other day Sophia and Kelsi were doing "gymnastics" -- their versions of pushups, sommersaulting, and splits.  Sophia began rapidly side-shuffling through the room and I had the brilliant idea to show her how to skip.

I found that although I can walk well, this large backside I carry has me anchored firmly to the ground.  To skip, I need a spring in my hop and folks, it's gone.  I darned near fell flat on my face when I tried to skip on the second foot before the first lifted off the floor.  The girls looked at me with quizzical expressions on their faces and I mumbled something about not being as agile as I once was.  Sherry (Kelsi's grandmother) was laughing so hard she nearly had to go home to change underwear.

Then Sophia's eyes lit up and she said, "Grandma, do it this way," and merrily took off skipping through the living room.  Later Dawn said she's been able to skip for a long, long time.  Humph.

Copyright ©2007  Kitty Park

GOD LOVE HER (June 2005)

Like many (most?) kids, they are normally adorable -- how they do what they do, the expressions on their little faces, their uninhibited display of affection.

As we did for Brandon, there is a list of naughty words whose use will result in punishment.  Calling someone "stupid" for example.  Then of course, there are the distasteful adult words -- damn, shit -- well, you get the idea.

When Sophia's disgruntled, usually with a person (parent or grandparent), she'll strike out with her hands, often resulting in scratches to her offender.  And the look she gives -- remind me not to cross her when she's older!

So picture a 2-1/2 year old who's been denied what she wants.  Her hands are being held so she can't hit or scratch.  Nailing you with venom in her eyes, she says with clipped words, "Stupid shit!"  Disciplined for her disrespect, she sits on the floor with her back against the wall, crying.  She looks at you, tears running down her face, and says, "My sorry, Mommy/Daddy/Grandma."  (We've all had a turn or two.)  Allowed to get up, she comes for a hug, then pulls away, looks at you very seriously and says, "Stupid shit!"  And then she smiles.

God love her..............

Copyright ©2005  Kitty Park

GOOD THINGS COME IN SMALL PACKAGES (December 2004)

Brett moved to San Diego in August and he's loving California living.  The challenges of his new job with the landscape design firm have enabled him to travel to many places, the most exotic being Hong Kong.

In the last few years, probably since Brandon was born in 2000, Brett has flown home to be with Dawn's family and me for either Thanksgiving or Christmas.  Brett said he wanted to come back this year, too, but being the person with the least seniority, he expected that he'd need to be available if any problems arose.  A week or so ago, he confirmed that he wouldn't be coming.  And frankly, I didn't expect him because any seats on holiday flights would have already been taken days/weeks earlier.

We talk frequently and this past Tuesday he asked if I'd be home Wednesday, December 22, because he wanted to have a three-way conversation on the phone.  When I asked who the third party was, he said it was a secret.  He said to expect the call around 11:00 PM.  But at 9:30 Wednesday evening he called to say it wasn't going to work and perhaps they'd try again today, the 23rd.

At 6:00 this morning the phone rang and I answered from the extension in my bedroom.  It was Brett, and it was 3:00 AM California time.  He didn't sound like he'd been partying.  Brett asked why I was still in bed.  Didn't I have to go to work?

Yes, I told him, I do have to work, but not until 1:00.  "So, why are you calling me this early?"

"Here," he said, "talk to this person."  I listened, but there was no voice.  In the background, I could hear a doorbell.  A few seconds, and I heard it again.  And then again.

"Brett, are you ringing my doorbell?!!"

Snicker......  Soft laugh......  The doorbell again.

I uttered some four-letter expletive, hung up the phone and scurried to the door.  There he was, damp with melting snow, grinning at me.

His plan had been to fly into Canton, but weather grounded planes in Detroit.  After standing in line to book a later flight (which wouldn't have gotten him here until Christmas Eve day, maybe), he and three other stranded passengers rented a car and drove to town.  The three-hour drive took six hours, but he's here now, sound asleep in my bed.  And Dawn didn't know he was coming, so later today we'll spring the surprise on her and Matt, and the party will begin!

Sometimes the best gift comes in no package at all.

Copyright ©2004  Kitty Park

HER NAME IS BABY (March 2004)

She’s putting two words together now.

At seventeen months old, Sophia’s vocabulary is rapidly expanding.  I’m convinced learning to sign (capturing the concept visually first) is the reason.  As with Brandon, we started with "eat" and "more."  "Done" is Mommy's creation.  To eliminate the ear-splitting screech Sophia voiced to escape mealtime confinement, Dawn taught Sophia to slam her hands down onto the highchair tray when she's finished a meal.

She signs "eat" a lot.  And "more" as well.  She eats a variety of things but prefers fruits and vegetables.  And cookies.  Although she recognizes the sign for cookie, she never signed it.  She went right to the word.  And she says it perfectly.

She has a book with a soft ball on it.  Ball was one of her next words.  Now anything circular in shape is a ball -- the smoke protector, O’s, light bulbs.

She has spent some weekends with her paternal grandparents.  Their household consists of Nana, Pappap and Hunter, the dog.  We were looking at pictures the other day and she pointed at Hunter and said "Pap."  Seeing Nana, she voiced something sounding like "unner."  She knows they belong together, but she doesn’t yet know who’s who.

Sophia says juice, signs water and knows the difference.  She identifies her ear, hair, nose, mouth and eyes.  It’s difficult to rock her to sleep (which I occasionally like to do), because she lies in my arms, one thumb in her mouth and the finger of her other hand tapping the lens of my glasses, saying "eye."  Then she moves to my ear, pulls on the earring, says "ear," and then touches her own.

The inflection in her voice often gives a clue to what she’s trying to say.  Most recently there are three syllables strung out in a sing-song voice as she tries to say, "Where are you?"

Two-syllable words often repeat the consonant: Elmo is Memo, Gramma is Maama, Bunny (her blanket with long-eared rabbit head at the center) is Bucky.

Foot is toof. Sock is cox.

Two words together? "More cookie."

And just yesterday, "Where are you, Bucky?"

Copyright ©2004  Kitty Park

LEARNING MACHINE (January 2004)

As a baby, in the days her routine consisted of sleeping, eating and pooping, Sophia mirrored Brandon’s behavior.  However, she’s now a year old and developing a personality and intelligence of her own.

In “Second Chance” I wrote about our use of signing and speaking when communicating with Brandon (and now Sophia).  Brandon seemed to grasp the concept and use it much earlier than Sophia has.  But now Sophia’s on board.  And she’s even developing her own signs.

She recognizes the sign for “drink” but doesn’t use it.  Instead she says “juice” (soos) or “milk” (mik) and, once she catches the eye of an adult, moves toward the kitchen to get a cup of her beverage of choice.  She does sign “eat” (tapping the fingers of one hand against her lips).  The sign for “more” is tapping the fingertips of both hands together.  Because she’s evidently going through a growth spurt, she frequently wants to eat -- and her sign combines eat and more: the fingertips of one hand against the palm of the other.

I have two cats and her family has a dog, so she’s learned the sign for cat (flick of fingers against cheek indicating whiskers) and dog (snapping of finger/thumb as if calling a dog to heel).  She is a book lover and will turns pages in one book signing “eat” to identify pages of food items.  There are pages of animals -- a cow, horse, pig, elephant, giraffe – and we’re working with her on these.  Brandon hasn’t forgotten the signs, so he, too, tries to teach her.  In fact, even though he knows their proper name is “giraffe,” he continues to refer to them as “long necks,” the sign for giraffe.

Daddy was her first intelligible word.  “Daddy” to come get her first thing in the morning.  “Daddy” to come get her after a nap.  Then she learned “Mommy.”  If Daddy doesn’t come get her quickly enough when summoned, she moves on to Mommy, calling louder and more often until she’s finally rescued from the confinement of her crib.

Sophia is easily frustrated and issues a deep-throated “arrrrghh!” when she can’t accomplish some task she’s undertaken.  She’s also been known to bonk herself on the head with her palm, as if asking, “What am I going to do?!”

All little people must like music.  She’ll stop whatever she’s doing when she hears a catchy tune.  Her response to the music will be to stamp her foot or turn in circles or hunch her shoulders and flex her knees in her interpretation of the beat.  And she grins as she moves.

Sophia’s now cutting back from two naps a day to one.  Once she picks up a fuzzy stuffed animal and puts her thumb in her mouth, it’s a subtle indication she’s ready for sleep.  We ask, “Are you ready for night-night?” and she races us to the bedroom.  Yes, sometimes it’s a false positive, and it appears she merely wanted to run, not go to bed.  Other times we get lucky.  Toy cuddled in her arm and held close to her cheek, thumb in her mouth, she’s quiet for a short time.  A respite for the latest high-intensity learning machine.

Copyright ©2004  Kitty Park

THE NEGOTIATOR (May 2003)

A friend mentioned last week her sadness about disciplining her two-year-old granddaughter Jessica.  Been there myself.   You're beating yourself up for disciplining the tot and s/he's off in a corner figuring out another way to get to what s/he's been told numerous times in just as many ways s/he's not to touch.

Brandon's a button pusher.  He learned the phrasing and practice at home.  Dawn's said it many times, initially of Matt who knows what will irritate her and persists until she loses patience.   Now Matt and Brandon push one another's buttons, and Brandon's learned the lesson well.

Brandon may begin by asking.  Refused, he moves to pleading, inserting several 'pleases' with his request.  He even negotiates when he suspects a remaining chink in the adult's naysaying.  Somewhere along the line, when he realizes he's getting to my last nerve, Brandon grins (damn him!) and affirms, "I'm just pushing your buttons, Grandma."

If he's really serious about having/getting/doing something he's been denied, he will be dogged, going so far as to challenge authority.  Last week I stooped to corporal punishment.  He persisted in jumping with his feet and landing on his bottom in my easy chair even after repeated requests that he sit and not use it as a trampoline.  I convinced him of my resolution when I fulfilled the threat to smack his bare bottom (once I caught him).

When released and out of arm's reach, he turned and said, "That didn't hurt," to which I replied, "But it could have."   Either the logic of what I said made sense or, more likely, he lost interest in the challenge.  I don't care why, at least he didn't jump on the furniture again.

I'm sure the veterans of the Grandparents' Club are smirking at the problems yet to be faced.  I know: The problems won't end, they'll just change.

I'm going to go take a nap.  Just thinking of what's ahead has worn me out.

Copyright ©2003  Kitty Park

BLACK-EYED PEAS (January 2003)

Northern and southern New Year's Day traditions were blended when Roy and I were married over 35 years ago.  We ate my sauerkraut and pork with his black-eyed peas.  (The greens, to be eaten for monetary success, morphed into a lime Jell-O and pear concoction.)

Matt, Dawn's husband, is a man with distinct tastes.  He refuses to sample the sauerkraut (or pork since it cooks with the 'kraut) or black-eyed peas.  On New Year's Day he eats something else.

Unlike his dad, Brandon, now nearly three years old, wants to try everything.  Yesterday, while eating a bowl of black-eyed peas, Brandon said to me, "Grandma, you make good food."  I smiled at his praise.  That was right before he put a forkful of sauerkraut into his mouth.  And immediately spit it out on the tablecloth.

Copyright ©2003  Kitty Park

ON BEING TWO (April 2002)

Brandon's now two.  Not the terrible twos.  Rather, the curious twos.

He will still take an afternoon nap, but unless he's rocked to sleep, he'll entertain himself on the bed, fighting to stay awake.  One day he took his diaper off.  Last Monday he stood on the cabinet at the head of my bed, unscrewed a bulb in the light bridge and used it to smash the other.  I was close enough to hear the pop and him say, "Oh oh. Grandma!" as I rushed in.  He innocently looked at me and said, "I broked it."  After putting him in the rocker ("I rock myself, Grandma") while I vacuumed the shards, I reminded myself he can't be trusted to be out of sight.

Yesterday when I put him down and his thumb went into his mouth, I breathed a sigh since I knew he'd be asleep in moments.  Minutes later I heard him carrying on a whispering conversation with himself, and peeked into the room to see what he was doing.  Brandon was sitting in the bed, lotion everywhere.  The travel size container had been emptied onto his legs, hands and diaper.  The overflow was on the sheets and blanket.  When he saw me, he casually asked for a towel.  He was unashamed and eagerly set about cleaning up the mess.  When finished, Brandon announced "All done!" and held up his arms, indicating he was ready to be carried to the rocker where we went back and forth until he fell asleep.

Copyright ©2002  Kitty Park

THUM AND THUMBS (October 2001)

Brandon was denied a pacifier as an infant ... something about confusing it with the breast.  Eventually he adopted his thumb.  Well, in his case, BOTH thumbs.  He prefers the right, but will switch to the left if his right hand is otherwise occupied.  He isn't overly attentive to thumbsucking, but over a period of months, the right thumb is showing wear and the skin is cracking.  He'll hold it up and say, "Thumb hurts."

Dawn was told that Thum (available in our drug store right next to teething medications) is a deterrent.  So she got a bottle this week.  Contents: a solution containing cayenne pepper.

This morning Brandon again told Dawn his thumb hurts.  So she dabbed a bit of Thum on it, advising him that it was medicine and he should not put it in his mouth.  Without tasting it, Brandon asked to have a bit on his left thumb as well.  Then he put the sore thumb in his mouth, pulled it out, and with a puzzled look on his face followed by a smile, said, "Good!"  And asked for more.  Dawn obliged.  Sampled again, he offered his thumb to Matt and laughing, said, "Here, Daddy, taste!"

As a deterrent, obviously this isn't going to work.  Perhaps Thum should be used as a reward.  Put it on his left thumb.  In no time at all the right thumb will be healed.

Copyright ©2002  Kitty Park

PICKING YOUR BATTLES (September 2001)

Why does a raised voice merely warrant a sideways glance before the imp continues with the taboo act?  Even when his hand is pulled away, which does no more than interrupt his forward motion, even when his hand is then swatted and finally his bottom, what compels that child to insist on doing what has been forbidden?

Brandon's not allowed to climb on the room divider.  Nor is he permitted to purposely drop his fork or spoon on the floor or pitch food off the plate when he's eaten his fill.  The first time he leaped from the sofa to the coffee table was his last.  Or it was supposed to be. Purses weren't exactly off limits, but items in them were.  I thought zippered containers were safe. Not any more.  Since his agenda requires that anything in his hand must pass into his mouth for sampling, Brandon had lipstick in his teeth before he experimented with graphic designs on his shorts.  His reaction when he spied his face in the mirror as I washed the red from in and around his mouth was priceless in its ecstatic reflection.

At twenty months, he's gained mobility, ability and the mental fortitude to satisfy his curiosity.  He's learned that rocks have no taste and that when they've sat in the sun, they may be hot.  He's found that mud puddles are more interesting than bath water and stomping in them is necessary.  If Maw stands too close and gets wet as a result, even better.  On our most recent walk, Brandon decided that we should both run.  He crowed at my effort to keep up with his toddler's stiff-legged run, pausing occasionally so I could rest and then urging, "Maw run; Brandon run."  We both took a nap that day.

He consents to hold my hand when we leave the car and move toward the grocery store.  I've explained that I need help walking in the street and it would be helpful if he'd hold my hand until we get to the curb.  Once there, he lets go of my finger, strolls to the carts and announces he'll "push buggy."  Bending at the waist and putting his hands on the crossbar, with me steering from behind, we amble along.

After we pass through the produce section, we enter the bakery area where free samples are provided.  Brandon releases his hold on the cart, turns and raises his arms, signifying that he's ready to be lifted to the basket's seat to have a snack.  There's nothing so endearing as his grin while he eats the fragment of angel food cake squished between his fingers or daintily nibbles a crumbled sugar cookie, rubbing his tummy, smiling and nodding his pleasure.

Yes, I'll let him splash in the mud puddles and wash the lipstick from his face and shorts.  Because I always win the shopping battle at the bakery.

Copyright ©2002  Kitty Park

CUSS WORDS (September 2001)

Brandon has reached the sponge stage of vocabulary development.  Those of you who've been parents can recall your failure to be judicious in your venting.  It is indeed amazing to observe how quickly, indeed expertly and spontaneously, those who are barely walking can use the cuss words in the proper context with absolutely no coaching.

There are also times when they voice socially undesirable words all on their own.  Brandon's having a little trouble putting different sounds together.  He went through the house helping Dawn pick up the other day and found his dad's socks.  Bringing them to her one by one he announced with each delivery, "Daddy's cock."  I do believe Matt will pick up his own socks for some time to come, but definitely until Brandon is able to say "sock" quite clearly.

Copyright ©2002  Kitty Park

FORETHOUGHT (August 2001)

Preface: Often a particular expression on Brandon's face reminds us of the so-called "chickenshit" grin his grandfather, Roy, often displayed.  Pulling one corner of his mouth tighter than the other, the look is short of all-out smile and includes a hint of bravado.  I recall a particular time when, as he explained how he'd gotten into a predicament, Roy displayed this special look.

**************

I've done it and perhaps you've done it.  Who hasn't?  But once is enough.  More than that, the absent-minded should take preventive measures.  I refer to locking the car, leaving the keys inside.

Being locked out of your car at home is inconvenient.  Being away from home in similar circumstances can really trash the holiday spirit.  With this in mind, Roy and I agreed that we'd take both sets of car keys with us when we traveled.  He'd have one set; I'd have the other.

On one of our trips, with two sets of keys in our possession, we set out for Niagara Falls with Roy's sister Gwen and her husband, Hank, for a weekend visit.  It was our intention to do a lot of sightseeing. Walking long distances is difficult for Hank, so Roy dropped us off at an overlook and continued on to the parking lot.  We sauntered along the footpaths while we waited for Roy to join us.  When he hadn't appeared after several minutes, I suggested Gwen and Hank sit in a shady area while I backtracked to find Roy.

Finally back to the parking lot, I was relieved to see that there were very few cars and easily spotted ours.  Roy was standing beside it.  When I reached him, I asked why he hadn't come to meet us.

"I'm waiting for a tow truck," he replied.

The car was sitting there in the middle of an almost-empty lot.  I saw no indication that he'd hit anything or been hit.  In fact, the motor was running.  I asked why he was waiting for a service vehicle.

His crooked grin began to develop.  "Well-l-l-l, see, this good-looking girl pulled in, and I got out of the car to see her better."

I nodded my head, indicating I was ready for more of the story.

"She had on these short shorts and a tight top and I just forgot, just for a moment, to turn the car off when I got out."

To which I replied, "An-n-n-d????"

"I locked the door just before I slammed it shut."

I reminded Roy that I had the second set of keys in my purse.

"Yes, you do," he agreed, nodding. "And where is it?"

I looked down and then recalled that since I hadn't expected to need my handbag on this short walk, I'd left it, with my keys, locked in the car trunk.

________________  

Owning multiple sets of keys isn't helpful if none is available when needed.  Consequently, following this trip I invested in a plastic coil to which I attached my car keys.  Now if I don't want to carry a handbag and have no pockets, I put the coil around my wrist.  As with most insurance, once this second precaution was taken, the car's never been locked with the keys inside.  But now I'm ready, just in case.

Copyright ©2002  Kitty Park

LIFELINES (August 2001)

Time goes on.  I continue to discover life by observing someone else's exploration.

Grand boy Brandon is nearly nineteen months old.  He walks, he runs.  He skins his knees.  He cries and, repeating words he's often heard, says, "Hold you" when he needs a hug.

He continues to learn sign language, although for some reason he insists on signing "rhinoceros" for "horse."  He saw a real horse for the first time last week.  He was more impressed with the fence that separated them than by the animal on the other side.

There have been times when he's said a word that I couldn't understand, so he signed it.  For example, he said "gaga" and I was without a clue.  So he signed "water."  When we're driving in the car he entertains himself saying words he's learned, copying the inflection of some phrase used previously: "Mommy bye-bye, Daddy bye-bye, Nana bye-bye...." until he puts you, or himself, to sleep with the monotonous repetition.

Others asked, "What will he call you?"  I called both my grandmothers Gramma, even though it appears that's now old fashioned.  Today's monikers have more flair: Brandon's other grandmother is Nana.  And a friend decided to be Mimi to her grandson.  I, on the other hand, elected to allow the child to pick something meaningful to him.

And one day he looked at me, pointed, and said, "Maw."  Not Ma, not Moi, but Maw.

To my ears, the sound of "Maw" was like fingernails on a blackboard.  

Undoubtedly this is shortened version of the word yet too difficult for him to say.  To my ears it lacks charm, wit, sophistication.  But truth be told, so do I!  I am what I am, and this child led me to see that it's okay!

I've adjusted to Maw and now accept it with pride.  I like hearing my new name best after he's awakened from a nap.  I can hear him stir in his bed as he talks to himself or Elmo, his sleep companion.  When he tires of the solitude, I am summoned to his rescue as he loudly calls, "M-A-A-W-W-W!"  As I stop in the doorway, I see this teacher, standing at the rail, grinning his greeting, arms raised to be lifted from the crib.

And our next few hours together begin as he shows me life outside the lines.

 

Copyright ©2002  Kitty Park

SECOND CHANCE (April 2001)

The little boy is now 15 months old.  He's learned to crawl and walk, and with each physical achievement, there are parallel advances in his mental prowess.

Were my children as clever, perceptive, bold, or curious as this little one is?  Why do I not recall the moments of their childhood accomplishments?

First he crawled and then he walked.  Each milestone predictable.  But I am awed as I have watched Brandon's face when he realizes what he's accomplished.  His eyes grow big and his little mouth forms a tight O.  And then he seems to think and he does it again.  And again.  Over a period of time he perfected crawling forward and suddenly crawled backward, giggling at the experience.  After weeks of struggling to walk forward, he discovered he could walk backward, not yet knowing that he must look over his shoulder to see where he was going.  Once again, big eyes and tight O as he bumped into the wall.  Now he's learning to march, but it's really more of a foot stomp, for he raises only his left knee.

Until this past week our northern winter has kept us isolated indoors.  Recently on a sunny day we went outdoors for a walk.  Almost running as toddlers do, he refused my hand.  I wanted to go this way; he wanted to go that.  And so we did.  Brandon spied his shadow and squatted to touch it, a puzzled expression on his face when he couldn't pick it up.  He found a sloping driveway and insisted on walking up it.  Half way, he turned around and, with his little feet struggling to keep him upright, Brandon discovered the sensation of coming down a hill.  Repeatedly, he went up the pavement, turned round, and came down, chortling each time.  But for my eventual boredom, we could still be there.

There was a breeze that day and we faced into it.  Suddenly Brandon threw back his head, mouth agape.  Pausing a moment, he laughed as he felt the cool breeze rush into his warm little mouth.  We walked a few steps that way, his head tilted back while he sampled the air.

Dawn, his mom, and I had read that the use of sign language helps a child communicate before he's able to do so verbally.  Therefore, when he was about six months old and began eating baby food, we began simultaneously signing and saying "drink," "eat" and "more."  Now he signs if he's thirsty or hungry.  If we think he's eaten enough but he disagrees, he signs "more."  He's even begun signing and speaking simultaneously as we do.

I'm beginning to feel as though we adults are now walking in place and Brandon's running ahead.  A few weeks ago, he was sitting in the child's seat of the shopping cart as Dawn pushed it down the aisle.  When she looked away from the merchandise and down at Brandon, he was rapping his fists together.  Dawn thought this was odd behavior until she realized they were passing the shoe department.  Brandon was signing "shoe."

Brandon signs and says Mommy and Daddy, and he identifies Matt's parents, Pappap and Nana, saying their names and signing (simplified by us to double "p" and double "n") at the same time.

We've taught him to sign and say "Kitty."  However, I think he associates this with the two cats that share this condo with me.  It's likely that when Dawn tells Brandon they're going to Grandma Kitty's, Brandon believes he's coming to see the cats.  He's gleeful when he spies them and he'll point, flick his cheek with the sign for cat and say "key" (his spoken t's are silent!).  I look forward to the time when he understands there are THREE kitties here.  Oh well, at least he smiles when he sees me.

I logged in my children's baby books the first day each sat up, rolled over, stood and walked.  But I don't recall an emotional reaction, merely the mechanical notation.  I find such joy in watching this little one grasp concepts and explore new challenges.  I am amazed and amused whenever we're together.  Thank heaven for a second chance.

Copyright ©2002  Kitty Park

MAKING TIME (November 2000)

Here we are again ... another notable change of weather conditions.  Seasons change gradually, usually, but for me, the turnover takes about 12 hours.  I have said, "This task having been accomplished, fall has now begun."  On the calendar fall began six weeks ago.  At my house its arrival started yesterday morning and was in place emotionally at the day's end.

Here on the lake there are two seasons.  Spring, when the boats go into the water and fall, when the boats come out.

Spring is a beginning: the boat is moored at the dock, the deck furniture is hauled in from the garage and the cushions are brought out of the closet.  The awning is rehung to shade the interior from the bold summer sun.  The warming breezes off the water encourage us to sit on our decks and chat with neighbors who have also vacated the confines imposed by winter.

Fall is marked with the jewel-colored leaves of the trees around the lake.  There is the need to pull the boats out of the water for winter land storage.  The baskets and half-barrels filled with happy colors of summer are now mere containers of plants too cold and weary to stand.  Outdoor furniture is returned to the garage, cushions to the closet.  Finally, the awning is taken down and stored for six months.

Those tasks of fall have now been completed.  I feel relieved to have beaten winter's arrival.  No sadness that the flowers are gone.  Their leaving gives me reason to look forward to next spring when the cycle begins again.

Copyright ©2002  Kitty Park

HAPPINESS IS A COMFORTABLE PAIR OF SHOES (July 2000)

I've been flipping through the pages of my life, wondering how I got to the place I am today, stopping short of wishing to start over.

I have chosen a simple life.  My daughter is my best friend.  I live alone, but I'm not lonely.  When part of a group activity, I know I'd be more comfortable in the company of only two or three people.  The busy-ness of many, and the noise they create, even in happiness, are incentives to look for a quiet space away from them.

I have acquaintances who cannot sit still, who cannot tolerate being alone.  Their schedule of places to be and social events to attend takes my breath away.  And I thank God it's their agenda, not mine.

I remember that it's only in my shoes that I'm comfortable.

Copyright ©2002  Kitty Park