Monday, September 21, 2009

Atlanta

Well, my son and his family moved into a new home, a real home of their own with a back yard, mosquitos, and everything. They're renting, but who cares? It's just wonderful.

And I, of course, had to visit. I couldn't face people on Rosh Hashana who would ask me about it without having had a firsthand look.

Hannah was pleased to see me, really happy, I think, and generally used me for support against her parents. This is how it goes with grandchildren. I played the fence as well as I could, but mostly told her to play along, try not to kick her brother.

She stopped doing that, at least during my visit, after the story about the bigger kid. There's always someone bigger, is the truth. How I wish I could remember that story now. No idea. She might.

Anway, as soon as we got home from the airport the two of us ran circles around the yard, which is huge, so that knocked us out. After that we basically played on the swing set and tossed a beach ball, your usual stuff with 3 year-olds.

At some point we're inside and I set down my glasses, because I'm at the age where you just do this all the time, set down your glasses, because they don't work, so you take them off, set them down. But this time, since I had hit the wall, I whipped them off in Stage One sleep.

I wake up from the power nap of dreams, a very fast cycle, maybe five minutes, a little confused. And when you're confused, you want your glasses. So I look for them to no avail. This makes me nervous, for although they're no good reading. . . for driving and seeing distance, they're life itself.

I give up, put on one contac lens. This works, actually.

The day plods on and every once in awhile we look for the glasses. Nada.

I picture them in a few pieces. They're glass, I think.

Then Hannah, hands behind her back, proclaims,
I found something.
She shows me the glasses.
Where did you find them?! Hugs, kisses, whoops.
Under the ottoman.
She's three and uses words like ottoman. Probably most of them do, right?

My daugher-in-law, who did an unbelievable job making me feel comfortable and putting weight on me, oh, that peach cobbler, called me the next day to ask if I'd seen, by any chance, a magazine with recipes in it. I mentioned I had wanted one of them. Any chance?

I should have said, "Look under the ottoman," of course.

"No idea," I tell her, "but if you find it, shoot me that brisket recipe."

She never gets back to me. But right before the holiday tells me, "Mom. It was under the ottoman. That magazine."

If I didn't know better, I'd say there's a pattern here.

Seeing Bubbie

1 comment:

  1. Ah yes, the magnetic quality of 3 year olds! Although now, all of a sudden, I have become a magnet for a little girl of a similar age. The past year, I've been in shul, she's seen me, handed out challah to me at kiddush and given me those sidelong 'I'm checking you out' glances that little people do. Then, after tashlich, we're sitting on the beach, and there she is, ready to play. I guess it helps when we're all down at little girl height, instead of her seeing our thighs and shoes.

    I'll be interested to see what happens this Shabbat.

    You know, I'm rather pleased to be a playmate. Kids are very selective!

    rachel

    ReplyDelete

Cry, it's okay, bubbala. Tell me everything.