Once More? (please...)

He's a substantial size for his age. At six, he probably weighs as much as I did when I was 10 or 11 and for months now I note that the Big Wheels that were all the rage during my suburban youth had a weight limit of 65 pounds, which my son is just three pounds shy of. If he asked me for one, I'd have to decline and rather than try to explain the math I'd have to tell him he's too big. In a wiser moment, I might have the clues to tell him, "We'll see," rather than issue anything definitive.

Tonight, though, he's disconsolate and its an hour past his bedtime. He got his first fidget spinner and after a little over an hour, he set it down of a crowded playground to spare himself the risk of it falling out of his pocket to never be found again. As trendy toys are wont to do, it disappeared. He scoured the playground again and again, his fatigue and emotions conspiring to drag him into an abyss that nothing could console. He retraced his steps and reviewed the possible locations where he may have left it, his calm holding together but giving away to the loss of the toy and perhaps even the disappointing realization that, in this world, fidget spinners disappear when they are given the chance.

I was quietly miffed at the obsession delaying the bedtime we had already compromised on, but I participated in the search and kept my cool. When the search was finally abandoned we start back for the car.  Gabriel a few steps ahead of me, but his feet were leaden with the loss.

"C'mere."

He stopped and turned. I extended my arms to give him a hug.

"I'm proud of how you're keeping calm right now, but I know how sad you are. It's okay to cry."

He did.

"Want a ride?"

He nodded and turned his back to me and after one failed attempt at the hoist, (which was less comedic than I would have liked) I got him onto my shoulders. There was a time when I could not get his legs far enough down my chest to feel he had his weight where it ought to be. He was once too top-heavy and I had to pull on his legs to keep him from falling backward of his perch. This time, the weight pressed on my back and neck.

I moved slowly as a few of his tears drizzled onto my forehead. The weight told me, "This isn't going to happen too many more times."

"Really?", I thought.

"Really, really."

I put him in charge of navigation as we crossed streets. He kept his eyes on traffic and gave me the required warnings about the oncoming traffic to keep us out of harm's way. We talked along the way while he lost himself in the sensation of the 5-days' growth of hair on my bald head against his palms and fingertips. I told him about "easy come, easy go." I didn't give him the acidic take on it, but reminded him of the things that he has worked hard for and hung onto. I let him know that everybody else wanted that fidget spinner just as badly as he did, even though few to none of them had to wait as long as he did for his one treasured hour of owning one.

I didn't make any promises, but I'm sure the next fidget spinner will not require as long a wait as today's.

His next fidget spinner will, for me, mark the walk with him on my shoulders tonight. An occasion which will be one of the very last few where I not only carry him, but perhaps ease the brunt of loss as well. I will have to walk next to him while his feet are weigh the the gravity of sadness and loss of will. I'm not sure if I can ease future pains as easily as I could tonight, but if that is the case, I anticipate that the pain will double on those occasions.

Lizards and Siblings and Sugar Rushes, Oh My!

A child’s birthday party is now an occasion for some time away from the responsibilities. It is not the oasis that a child’s stretch at the grandparents can be, but it is a break to dawdle in a cafe for a few hours. The conversation gets to be distracted and meander wherever it wishes rather than aim to be inordinately adult. The parties are becoming a recurring visit with the same characters, snapshots of parents only known by their children’s names. A drop-off to get a sense of how close to the template the occasion is, a moment to get reacquainted and perhaps ensure contact info has been shared or updated and then the next few hours proceed.

If the party goes well, the kids let you know that they’d love to do that themselves. Over the past six years there have been gymnastics parties, indoor playgrounds, Chuck E Cheese, zoo visits, baking your own pizzas, a visit to a fish hatchery and the occasional family-hosted games efforts. Our variations on the theme included a science-oriented party where kids could make their own slime and do experiments with dry ice. (It did actually go over well because rather than despite the slime. With the kids, anyway.) Today’s party featured lizards and amphibians. 

Despite our impulse to cringe at the thought, we were intrigued and Gabriel was all in. Our arrival was a quick refresher on the familiar themes: the harried final preparations; the awkwardness amongst the kids about gifts before there was a designated place to deposit them; the uninvited 3-year-old sibling who has turned up for every classmate’s birthday party for the last 12 to 18 months. (I don't believe anyone has had the nerve to tell the children's father that only one of the kids was invited.) A more recent wrinkle in our party preparations is the dubious trust we place in Gabriel when he insists he knows the right present for his friend. Okay, but I was wary about his insistence that Ninja-go Lego was the ideal gift for the birthday girl. When getting the gift with him the day before I forgot to get a gift receipt, which probably earned me the standard disapproving sigh issued in all instance of paternal indifference, "Men."

Ahh, onto the lizard man.

He arrived in a pick up with his menagerie stashed in two Rubbermaid containers, one of which had holes punched in it for ventilation. My first thought was the resemblance - in both appearance and demeanour - the man bore to a lumbering, monosyllabic neighbour. 

He settled in and perched his containers on one of the fold-out tables that the community centre was replete with. With the preparations were completed in the next room and the kids streamed in one-by-one, he sat with arms crossed in front of the two empty benches the kids would perch upon for the showing of the animals. Terse would sum up his demeanour. He would pose no threat to Jack Hanna's reputation for charming audiences. Once the kids settled in, he gruffly insisted on silence to not disturb the animals by being too loud. I was left to wonder if he had the animals merely so he could insist on silence in every possible situation. "I have geckos here!! Shut up!", he could likely wail to neighbours who broached his tolerance for decibels. He did not quite go that far, but his opening statement expressing his requests for proper behaviour included an extended treatise on the difference between stories and anecdotes, which would start with "Once I..." or "My mommy...," and questions, which started with "Who, What, When, Where and Why." He would answer the questions. I decided to play it safe and forego asking, "How old" and "How big" questions. The distinction between questions and anecdotes had, I suspected, more to do with the one nerve the birthday brood of six-year-olds was standing on rather than the noise sensitivities of the reptilian.

Needless to say, the lizards and toad bridged the gap their handler was reluctant to broach. After the kids had the opportunity to see their first gecko, toad and snake of the morning, I concluded the handler was not going to get much friendlier or more talkative. Gabriel was caught up in the textures and wonder of each creature and tea beckoned. I took my opportunity to slip away.

At party's end, the adults agreed that the animal handler left them wanting for something more. I felt that he was more frightening that the animals could have possibly been. So far Gabriel hasn't expressed a desire for the same gent to do the party for his 7th birthday and the birthday girl's mother added that her daughter had actually gotten into LEGO Ninjago thanks to Gabriel's influence and that it was better for her than Barbie dolls. 

And for those things I am thankful.