At one point Cailyn went in to say hi to
Chris, leaving the phone on the floor, still droning on about twisting hair
this way and brushing it out that way.
Then for some reason the video stopped.
I reached down on the floor hoping that the video had come to an end,
and there was an error code indicating that the rest of the video could not be
loaded at this time. Of course that
would be the same second that Cailyn reappeared to continue her hairdo training
session. There I was, holding the now-silent
phone. She drew the immediate conclusion
that I had obviously interfered and turned it off. And no amount of explanation could convince
her otherwise. It was just time for a
brief onslaught of drama – a true divatic episode. I deal with that kind of drama a bit
differently than most, I suppose. I
ignore it. Completely. Stop talking.
Turn away. With no receptor for
her emotive display, she then has but two choices: stop and listen or seek
another outlet. The first works often
enough. Today, however, she chose the
second, and returned to good ol’ Nana.
Chris handled it quite well. She
got her talking right away (a skill that women have that I have yet to begin to
understand). Suddenly they were best
friends.
They went in to have some breakfast. Of course Cailyn and I had already had frozen
waffles earlier, and she told Chris she had also had some eggs at home. Girl must be growing. While they munched on pop tarts, I had an
idea. I took the top off of two medicine
bottles and stuck them behind my glasses. I also arranged a back scratcher so that it
looked like it was growing from my neck.
Thus properly attired, I stomped into the kitchen where they sat,
grimace on my face, arms raised in an aggressive looking pose. And suddenly all was forgotten. Chris said, “What is that?” Cailyn laughed heartily and said, “It’s just
DadDad.” And Chris retorted, “It looks
like a zombie.” The two of them
scampered into the office to “get dressed before he sees us.” She even raced Zombie DadDad to the bathroom
to get her teeth brushed.
Good mood restored, we left a little early
for school, with plenty of time to take a short cut. Both dolls accompanied us in their very own
makeshift carseat (the box Phoebe came in).
We drove past my former place of employment, Fred Hartel Roofing
Company, and around the “Moody in the Gardens” hotel. Then it was off to the back parking lot near
where the Colonel Paddlewheel is docked.
Then it was a blur … past Schlitterbahn on the left and the airport and the
aircraft museum on the right. Then down
by Fire Station number four. And finally
on to the school. Of course Julie and Phoebe
had to stay in the car. I’m sure they
were sad to miss out on our trek to the front door, though. We skipped.
Well, not the whole way, thank goodness.
Cailyn said her legs got tired, so we’d walk a few steps and skip then some
more all the way to the front door. The
kids we passed just smiled and wished they could do that, too. Guess I got some strange looks from the
adults, though. Well, at least some
grins and nods as if to say, “Well, there goes a goofy granddad. He’s finally lost it.”
Psalms 30:5 says, “For his anger lasts only a moment, but his favor lasts a lifetime; weeping
may remain for a night, but rejoicing comes in the morning.”
Father, thank you for mornings. And for joy.
And for the chance to see the two of them bubble all over each other and
well up inside your little children.
Amen.
No comments:
Post a Comment