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It was a family outing that was not going well.
Everyone was grumgry, the term we use for deteriorating emotional states in absence of sustenance.
We had packed a picnic but 30 minutes into our journey we noticed the gas light was blinking. We probably would not make it unless we back-tracked to a gas station.
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The other day I was trying to get Finn’s attention. He was sitting in a chair staring off into space. I can’t remember why it was important for me to interrupt him but nevertheless I did.
“Finn,” I said for the third or fourth time.
“I’m off duty,” he replied.
“Really?” I said. “What exactly does that mean?”
“I’m just not doing anything,” he said matter-of-factly.
I kind of wondered what being “on duty” meant for him but I didn’t inquire further.
I’m sure he was repeating what one of us might have said when we were in the middle of something and attempted to “pass the baton” so to speak.
“Talk to Mommy. I’m off duty.”
Would I say that?
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Spring here this year has been outstanding. Even now the dogwoods and rhododendrons are holding on.
In contrast to last year when just after the buds began appearing, a cold snap killed off most of them, blunting the impact of that extra lift you normally get from the season.
This year everything is showing off. Some flowers seem to be blooming three times over.
Finn has been climbing trees more and more lately with his buddies. On a recent morning he was determined to conquer one tree in particular that was in full bloom.
He had his eye on a specific branch. Bracing and balancing precariously he finally reached it. Grabbing a blossom he pulled it to his face.
After examining it for a second, he buried his nose in the petals and took a long deep breath.
“Mmmm Daffodils,” he said.
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On a recent afternoon I was raking, removing the winter quilt of leaves from the flower beds.
A few yards away Finn was busy with a project of his own. He was piling sticks and bricks on the patio where I had just cleaned.
I feel as though his response to any space being clean these days is: “Oh good, now I have more room to create.”
He and his friends have been building little forts lately from a supply of bricks beside the garden shed, leftover from some past construction project.
By the time I had finished my raking, Finn had constructed a couple of walls with bricks and incorporated some lawn chairs for end caps.
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Finn and I went to the Model Train and Hobby show in Kingston, NY a few weekends ago.
It was a welcome respite from the news headlines and somewhat of a comfort to be among people of seemingly different backgrounds, peacefully coexisting—over model trains.
It was kind of a slice of Americana. Even the venue looked like it had not changed in 50 years. A faded brick building that looked like an old high school gymnasium. Along the walls inside were old wooden folding bleachers, the floors were creaky and it smelled like my elementary school.
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A couple of days ago the temperature rose above sixty, which is becoming more common for winter it seems.
We made a trip to the reservoir to take a walk. We weren’t the only ones with that idea. There were more cars than I have ever seen there.
Finn saw a melted section in the ice. “Oh good!” he said. “Part of it is melted. Now Calico Jack can get out!”
He went on to explain that Calico Jack’s pirate ship had sunk to the bottom of the reservoir and now with the melted section it would be able to reemerge. How it got there from the sea is a mystery but you know those pirates are very clever and mysterious.
It was nice to get out and walk for a while without trudging through the snow. I wouldn’t say it has been a treacherous winter but we’ve had our share of the white stuff.
Erin has been reading the Laura Ingalls Wilder series to Finn and as it turns out is now reading The Long Winter.
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After Christmas we made an overdue trip down south to visit my parents.
As it turned out, my brothers and sisters, most of whom had been there for Thanksgiving when we were unable to attend, returned for an afternoon—creating a gathering that we hadn’t seen for over 10 years.
My Dad suffered a small stroke in the Summer and he’ll be 90 this year, so having more frequent gatherings is on our minds now.
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I grew up in the South but moved to New York in my twenties. It occurred to me recently that I have lived in the North for much longer than I did in the South. The one thing I’ve never adapted to is the cold weather.
When the winter moves in, I want to hibernate. I have the feeling that I will never get warm no matter what I do. That is, until spring arrives.
Finn, thankfully, got another gene. On the day of our recent snow, he spent half the day literally rolling in it, eating it, sledding, and throwing snow balls with his friends. Lucky for me, they picked a spot in the yard where I could watch them from the warm comfort of the indoors. Eventually though, I felt like I was missing out so I bundled up and braved the cold.
I saw Finn rolling a ball in the snow attempting to make it bigger. This was something I always wanted to do as a kid. We didn’t get much snow in Alabama. There was only once I remember having enough snow to build a snowman or to sled in. And forget about snow gear. Our “mittens” were athletic socks covered with bread bags. My mom was always very resourceful that way.
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Two days before the now infamous election, Finn was in full sobbing meltdown. Perhaps a foreshadowing of half the country, if not the world. He was inconsolable because Erin had just explained that he would not actually be able to vote himself.
“But I HAAAVE to!” he sobbed.
If only everyone felt so strongly about voting.
There has been scarcely a road we could drive down without seeing campaign signs for the last two years and Finn has been well aware that this was an historic election.
After his meltdown, Erin created a special ballot for him in red, white, and blue with both candidates’ names and a tag line at the bottom: “Thank you for your patriotism.” Finn took his ballot over to a chair to fill it out in semi-privacy.
Then, on election day, he brought it along in the car and joined us at the polls.
The following day Erin and I were the ones in a stupor while he was, thankfully, going about the business of childhood. I was glad that he didn’t grasp the gravity of it all.
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On a balmy fall “Indian Summer” evening just after sunset, Finn was having a hard time with the idea of bedtime. Refusing to come inside, he found one thing after another that he had to do “one last time.”
“I just need to swing from the rope one more time,” he said.
I lifted him to the crook of the maple tree since it’s too wide for him to climb up on his own. A rope tied to one of the limbs has become a recent favorite for him. It was getting dark fast.
“OK, that’s the last time,” I said after he had swung back and forth a few times. “Time to get down and go inside.”
“Noooo! NOT the last time!” he wailed.
Suddenly there were other high pitched voices in the dark from across the way.
“Finn! What’s wrong?!” It was Teo and Sebastian, ages 6 and 5. They came running from next door like the charging cavalry.
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Fall brings memories of grade school and the smell of new school supplies.
There are no traditional school supplies to get yet for Finn, but we did go shopping for some new rain gear, which he enjoyed trying out in the store a day or two before his first day of kindergarten.
“I have to see if I can run in it!” he said, taking off across the store. “And I might lay on the ground so I better test that out,” he said, lying down on the floor and rolling around. Thankfully there were few customers in the store at the time.
On the first day of school, he walked gingerly onto the grounds holding onto my hand, then tightening his grip when he sensed it was time for me to go.
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We had our second annual camping trip with Finn last week. Erin and I have decided that camping is in a category of its own, separate from vacation.
The idea was to camp on the beach. It was late in the season when we booked the reservation so there was little availability.
We would have to spend one night on the “bay side” and then we could move to the “ocean side” for the second night.
It would have been helpful if the website had mentioned that the mosquito situation on the bay side is beyond anything you would have ever experienced, nightmare or otherwise.
I got hundreds of bites (literally) setting up the tent in the 90 degree heat while Finn repeated “I want to go home” hundreds of times. We gave his suggestion a fleeting thought.
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Lately I’ve been performing again. Singing and acting.
Something I used to do with more regularity years ago but had not pursued very much after Finn was born.
Rehearsals have required me to be in the city away from Finn and Erin for a couple of long stretches.
It’s the first time Finn and I have been away from each other for extended periods since he was born.
Facetime has made it more bearable, but I think the most challenging thing is explaining to him what I’m doing.
I don’t think he fully comprehends the acting thing yet. He has attended some live performances, but none where Erin or I have played a character.
On one of my days off we spent the day together and he wanted to know more.
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Erin and I got new phones this week. Our old ones weren’t holding a charge for very long.
It still seems odd to me that something that is supposed to have superior technology has only a few years use.
I bet the land-line phone I had as a kid would still work perfectly today if it were plugged in. I suppose texting with a rotary dial would be challenging though.
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A few days ago at breakfast, Finn got up abruptly and went to the refrigerator.
I suspected it was to get more maple syrup since I had just observed him carefully scooping the amount I had given him off of the top of his oatmeal and slurping it down.
“Finn,” I said.
“Don’t worry about me,” he said turning back with a hand in the air and a tone that sounded
more like a 14 than 4 year old.
He then lugged the quart container back and plopped it on the table.
“Please?” he said.
The battle of sweets is fought hard in this household.
Especially since my sweet tooth is the
size of Switzerland, Belgium and France combined.
And it’s the dark confection those countries are so good at that I tend to gravitate toward.
This has not gone unnoticed.
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I took Finn with me to vote this week.
In the car on the way I was trying to explain the concept to him.
“It’s like being asked to raise your hand if you want something,” I said. “Except everyone in the State is being asked who we want for President. We can’t see each other’s hands so we have to write down who we want.”
(I’ll let his uncle Brad explain the whole delegate and electoral college thing some day.)
“Raise your hand?” he asked.
“You know,” I said, “like when you’re at a party and somebody comes in and says ‘Who wants a cupcake?’ and you raise your hand?”
I knew it was a bad example the moment the words left my mouth.
“Ooo I want a cupcake!” he said.
It took the rest of the trip to explain why we were not going to have a cupcake right then. Sometimes I’m good at explaining things, other times not.
We arrived at the polling place, which was thankfully in a fire station. If there’s one thing that can get his mind off a cupcake it’s a fire engine.
As we peeked in the windows at the trucks I wondered how much of this he would remember.
I have vivid memories of my Mom taking me to vote when I was a kid, into the big metal booths with curtains.
She would let me click the levers and when we were done we would pull the long handle and the curtains opened automatically.
I suppose those are still around.
The electronic voting machines don’t instill as much confidence for me.
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A few weeks ago Finn and I were fighting monsters in the backyard when he said, “You have to get that red lobster monster over there!”
I went along with it and pretended to fight a big lobster. But he wasn’t satisfied.
“No, it’s really over there in the bush,” he said.
Then I saw it. Something shiny and red reflecting through the branches.
It was a deflated red metallic balloon. I pulled it out to take to the trash but noticed some writing on it.
“Happy Birthday,” it said. There were a couple of names and “We miss you both” on one side.
There was a phone number with the message: “Tell me where this balloon was found.”
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A day or two ago I found myself in a bit of a funk worrying about something and Finn picked up on it.
“What’s wrong Daddoo?” “Nothing,” I said, lying through my teeth.
“Ok. Well come over here. This will help you feel better. Come play with me.”
And of course he was right. Co-building a Lego pyramid did seem to offer some relief.
I had noticed recently how quickly things can go from being a major disaster to being simply fine again with him. No emotion holds on for too long at this age except perhaps enthusiasm. That is the one thing that is in no short supply.
I would love it if worry was delayed from becoming part of his consciousness for as long as humanly possible. I wonder at what age it takes hold and when it becomes more difficult for one to flip the switch.
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This week our little family had its first real game night.
That is, the first where Finn wasn’t trying to make up his own rules or rake all of the game pieces into a pile.
The game of choice was Zingo. Kind of like Bingo except with little pictures on each square of the game card. A little gadget deals the game pieces two at a time. If you see one that matches an image on your card you have to grab it before another player does. The first player to fill up their card wins.
When we began, I wondered what Finn’s reaction would be if he lost, and, like most other parents, I considered trying to slant the game in his favor.
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If there is one thing children are on earth to do it’s to continuously challenge our concept of time.
After all, it isn’t natural this business of numbering the months, days, hours, and minutes.
Finn’s natural tendency is to explore the moment until it has reached it’s natural end before moving on to the next thing.
“We’re late!” I kept saying one recent morning on the way out the door. “Please get your boots on!”
“Ok, as soon as I shoot the bear,” he said, running back inside to fire his lego missile one last time.
I’m past giving him the speech about why you wouldn’t want to shoot a bear because he always responds, “It’s just pretend Dadoo.”
Instead I said, “Do you know what late means?”
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