Grampa Waits For Me

Some of the grandkids were over for the weekend.

This is what Connie Francis would be singing in this situation . . .

(To the tune of "Where the Boys Are')

Where the toys are, grandpa waits for me!
A smilin' face, a warm embrace, two arms to hold me tenderly.
Where the toys are, Grandpa’s love will be!
He's sittin’ in his re-clin-er and I know he's waitin' there for me.

In the world of billions of people I think he looks just fine.
Then I'll eat his treats and play his games and tell the world he's mine.

Till we get there I wait impatiently.
Where the toys are, where the toys are,
Where the toys are, Grandpa waits for me.

Till we get there, I wait impatiently.
Where the toys are, where the toys are,
Where the toys are, Grandpa waits for me!

Future Father

Big Brother

Our third son, Duffy, was two-and-a-half when our first daughter was born.

He stuck to the baby and I like glue.

That doesn't mean he learned anything . . .

At the tender age of three, Duffy was enrolled in the Sunbeam class in our church.

With eight little girls.

Boys were obviously something new.

Moving on . . .

The scheduled lesson was all about babies.

A precious gift from God.

It was a beautiful lesson.

My four-month-old baby, Caitlin was invited into the class.

I came with her.

Sort of like show-and-tell.

But interactive.

And noisy.

Okay, just like show-and-tell.

After the little girls got tired of cooing over the real baby, their teacher (the mother of five girls, herself) brought out a large basket.

Filled with everything 'baby'.

There were dolls by the dozen.

Clothes.

Blankets.

Bottles.

Instantaneous heaven for the budding little mothers in the class.

Duffy was a boy.

And, though his older brother liked cuddling dolls, Duffy was more comfortable with trucks and things 'boy'.

He was handed a baby doll.

Naked.

And a blanket.

He dangled his doll by one foot and looked at the little girls around him.

All had at least one (some had purloined two) little babies wrapped warmly and tucked tenderly into their arms.

Most were singing softly.

And rocking.

Duffy stared at them, then held up his baby.

Still by one foot.

Okay. He could handle this.

He spread his blanket out on the floor.

Then dropped the doll onto one corner and proceeded to roll it up like a sausage in a piece of burlap.

He then jammed the resulting package under one arm like a satchel.

Done.

The teacher handed him a bottle.

There's more?

He took the bottle and looked at it.

I should mention here that I nursed my babies.

Duffy had never seen a bottle before.

I can still see his little aggrieved face.

What an earth was he supposed to do with this?

Finally, he pulled out his little, blanket-wrapped bundle, grabbed a corner of said blanket and gave it a pull.

The doll flipped out, spun in the air for a moment, then clattered to the floor.

Duffy again grabbed it by the foot.

This time, he examined it minutely.

Ah. There was a tiny hole in one butt cheek.

Perfect for the strange little bottle he had been handed.

He stuck the nozzle of the bottle into the little hole and beamed happily at me.

All was well.

My son, father to future generations . . .

There is a codicil.

Despite this obviously rocky start, Duffy has proved to be an excellent and loving father.

Gifted with working with children of special needs.

I guess he was watching after all.

Delores of Under the Porch Light has issued her challenge.

Six little words: Minute, aggrieved, instantaneous, burlap, satchel, purloined

Use them or lose them.

I chose use.

Join us!

Music Magic

Our Engineer - far right.

Our son, an army engineer, was on his Combat Leadership course.It was gruelling.Months of training.An adrenaline rush of enacting scenarios.Strategizing.Analyzing situations.Digging in and getting dirty.Yep. Gruelling pretty much describes it.And added to the daily duty roster, morning inspections.Not only must they learn how to survive, even thrive in battle situations, they had to look good while they did it.Each evening was spent in cleaning oneself and one's gear in preparation for inspection directly after breakfast the next morning.For the most part, the soldiers enjoyed this relaxing time after dinner.It was a chance to unwind.Kibitz around a bit.Laugh and joke.And keep their adrenalin up with pounding, exhilarating music.
Loud. Fast. Heavy.Followed immediately by bed.Needless to say, it took some time to wind down.Except for our son.Whose choice of music was a little more . . . conservative.He would drift away almost immediately to the soft, soothing strains of Loreena McKennitt.Or Enya.One evening some time after lights out, the men were restless.Knowing that their morning would come fast, not to mention early, they were anxious to get some needed sleep.And it was proving elusive.Again, except for our son, who had his stereo by his ear and had already drifted away.To Enya.One of the soldiers noticed.It gave him an idea.The next evening, the group completed their usual day-end tasks.To their usual music.Then crawled into their bunks.Lights were doused.Then, out of the darkness, a voice.“Hey, Tolley. Play us some of your music.”Our son turned up the song he was currently listening to.Only Time.Enya.Within seconds the sounds of snoring filled the dorm.After that, immediately following lights-out, the strains of choice were something soft.Soothing.And sleepy.
Nighty-night.