Grampy Lash

Yesterday, our soon to be three-year-old grandson, Gabe, came to spend the day. He had been miserably ill the day before, was feeling a little better, but it in spite of his sickly appearance he brought a measurable amount of cheer into our home.

Gabe is a sweet little boy with sincere heart warming smiles that prevailed throughout the day, masking how poorly he must be feeling. He seldom demands much attention, is capable of entertaining himself and learns along the way.

His speech is rapidly improving along with his communication skills, and although he could very easily have told us how bad he felt or what part of him hurt, he was more prone to say things like: “Be careful Grammy!” as he escorted her down the steps from the upstairs playroom, or later cautioned me to “Be gentle pa-pa” as I carried the toy parking garage down those same steps.

I would soon learn that he was also making progress in another important part of his development, when later that morning he told us that he wanted to pee in the toilet.  We were both slightly taken aback by both the clarity and the need of his request: “I want to pee in the toilet!”

Claudia rolled her eyes at me and clearly communicated that I would be the one to assist this little guy on this next important step forward in his development – learning to hit the bowl.

Sensing that this might be somewhat urgent, I nervously fumbled with the little straps on Gabe’s diaper and removed it, placed our little Elmo step stool in front of the toilet, had him step up to take aim – “No!” he exclaimed. He promptly turned and dropped his little bum on the seat.  I should have known better. Based on prior experience with his two elder male cousins, I should have started with the sitting position. I’m not sure why these little guys have been intimidated by the forward standing position.  I can only surmise that standing before such an abyss raises a fear of falling or being sucked into it, or maybe they just need a little more time to think things through before really taking aim and hitting the bowl on the first attempt at standing.

And then we waited.  Gabe kicked his little feet, he smiled, he searched the bathroom with his eyes, pulled off some toilet paper and dabbed his little snotty nose, kicked his feet some more …  The smile concerned me, it was a little devious.  I felt like I was being challenged.  I was beginning to think that he was holding back, would tell me that he was finished, and promptly let go after I had put a fresh diaper back on him.  I turned on the water thinking that might help move things a little – “No!” he exclaimed, “Turn it off!”

More waiting, more kicking of feet, more smiling; then a much bigger smile, a soft sound of tinkling, a little quiver that signaled success.  We moved the Elmo step stool in front of the sink, I showed him how to wash his little hands, and then we high-fived in celebration.

Both of us were feeling quite accomplished, and as we exited the bathroom, Gabe turned and said, “I like you pa-pa!”

Shortly after we had arrived for a visit with our Lash granddaughters, Zoey awoke from her nap. Her big sister, Haleigh, was graciously escorting her down the steps. We made eye contact and Zoey smiled at me as radiantly as any little three-year-old-freshly-recharged girl could. She was so lovely! I felt like Rhett Butler watching Scarlett O’Hara descend the staircase in the plantation house on Tara. She came to me, hopped up in my lap, curled up and snuggled until the remaining tendrils of her nap cleared away. She asked me to scratch her back.

“Where does it itch,” I asked.

“It does’t itch,” she replied. “I just want you to scratch it. I’m so glad you and Grammy came today.” Then, “Let’s go play!” and she led me into the girl’s play room.

“What are we going to play?” I asked.

Zoey reached into a box that contained a variety of figurines, pulled out Pinocchio and handed it to me. Then she pulled out Mulan and Jasmine, studied them both for a few seconds, then dropped Jasmine aside. “You will be Pinocchio and I will be Mulan,” she directed. “We are married.”

“What are we going to do today Mulan?” asked Pinocchio.

“We have to go to school today Pinocchio,” said Mulan.

“Where is the school?” asked Pinocchio.

“It’s over there,” answered Mulan. She gracefully turned and swept her body towards a castle which sat on the other side of the room, keeping her hands firmly planted behind her back. Before Pinocchio could ask how they would get there, a bright yellow Playskool bus pulled to a halt in front of them. “Get on,” said Mulan, “and I will drive us to school.”

Pinocchio never seemed to know what might happen next, and he was always asking questions, but Mulan never seemed to mind. “What are we going to do at school first?” asked Pinocchio.

“We are going to play hide and seek, and you will be the first to count while I hide,” ordered Mulan.

Like Mulan, Pinocchio’s arms were locked behind his back. So, he just lay face down on the floor and began to count. When he reached ten, Pinocchio raised himself from the floor and saw that Mulan indeed had vanished. It didn’t take long for him to find Mulan for he could hear her giggling behind the mountains that were my hips as I lay on the floor.

“I found you Mulan!” Pinocchio exclaimed. Mulan smiled, her hands still firmly planted behind her back, the lovely flower in her hair remained undisturbed.

“Now I will count and you hide,” said Mulan to Pinocchio. She began to count and Pinocchio slipped into a cave that had once been my pocket.

When she reached ten, Mulan became troubled. “I need help Pinocchio!” she cried. “I don’t know how to count past ten!”

“That’s okay,” Pinocchio mumbled from the cave. “I already found a good hiding place.”

Mulan had tricked Pinocchio. It did not take her long to find him. Then the yellow bus drove up, indicating that school had ended and it was time to go home.

As Mulan drove the bus home to the other side of the room, Pinocchio was wondering what they would do next. He was a bit shocked when the bus abruptly halted and Mulan ordered him to get off the bus. “Why are you making me get off the bus?” he asked.

“Because this is where you live,” said Mulan.

“Where are you going?” asked Pinocchio.

“To my house where I live,” replied Mulan. “I will see you at school tomorrow. Good-bye Pinocchio! I love you!”

“I love you too!” shouted Pinocchio as Mulan drove away in the yellow bus, her hands still firmly planted behind her back.

It had been a fun day at school for the happily married Mulan and Pinocchio.

August 31, 2015

Josh called me last night, as he often does, while driving home from his class. Our conversation continued, as he reached his home, and swept upstairs hoping that Ali was still awake so he could tell her “good night”. I could hear faint mumblings which eventually ended with “Would you like to talk to popaw?”

“Yeah,” came the soft sleepy reply.

“Hi popaw.”

“Hi Ali. Are you getting ready to sleep?”

“Yeah.”

“Did you have a good day at school?”

“Yeah.”

“Did you learn something new today?”

“Yes,” she perked up a little. “We learned about animals.”

“What did you learn about animals?”

“Well, it was very dark and Jesus didn’t like it because it was so dark so he made a lot of animals! – and he made flowers and grass and trees and water! – and he made people too!”

“I think he did a pretty good job when he made you and your little sister.”

“Yeah, and he made jammies too!”

That was my cue to say good night.

“I’m glad you had such a good day at school. Now, I think it’s time for me to say good night so you can get to sleep and get lots of rest for school tomorrow.”

“Yeah. Good night popaw – I love you popaw.”

Grandbabies. He made them too.

We took Alizabeth and Haleigh to visit their Great Grandpa and Grandma Lash recently.  My apprehension about the visit was put to rest the moment the girls crossed over the front door threshold. The fondness of human company, a trait shared by both the young visitors and the old hosts quickly evaporated any possibility for the social awkwardness that is often initiated on such rare occasions.  The girls became two little kittens exploring their new environment; touching things that were new to them, marking the big screen TV with their paw prints – reluctant to be held for more than a few seconds lest their quest be interrupted.

Photographs were taken by Great Grandpa, candy was offered by Great Grandma, Chico the black pug was released from his back room incarceration as a result of Ali’s pleas. In a short time, it appeared that the “greats” had mutually charmed one another. Chico jittered, jumped, sniffed, and slurped – much to the delight of the girls.

Anyone who has visited the Lash house on Allison Avenue knows that some form of music, be it vocal, instrumental, or both may very well be invoked if the visit lasts long enough.  This evening would be no exception.

Great Grandpa leaned forward in his chair, his voice a coarse leftover from a nasty cold, and asked Alizabeth, “Would you like to hear me play the harmonica?”

“Yes!” replied Ali as she clutched one of Chico’s favorite stuffed toys, not seeming to notice the wattle hanging beneath her great grandpa’s chin. I wondered to myself if she knew what a harmonica was.

Slowly he lifted himself out of his chair and shuffle-toddled across the room, in much the same manner as one-year-old Haleigh who has just started walking. He opened the door of the hall closet, rummaged through the pockets of one of the jackets hanging inside, and soon came out with an old Marine Band harmonica. He returned to his chair, sat down, slapped the harmonica on his thigh a few times, and leaned forward once again. “What would you like to hear me play Ali?”

“I don’t know,” she replied as she tried to see what he was holding, not sure about what was about to happen.

Great Grandpa put the old Marine Band harmonica to his lips, blew out a few croaky notes as if to clear out the cobwebs, and was soon playing “You are my Sunshine”.  As he played, Alizabeth stood next to his hassock still clutching Chico’s toy, her robin egg blue eyes steadfastly watched. She appeared to be enraptured. It was a Heartland moment – no fiddle, no poofing brown jug, no thimble on a washboard – just one old man playing an old harmonica for a little girl.

When he finished, Alizabeth clapped. She stood next to the hassock and applauded and asked for more.

Back to the lips went the harmonica. Out came a medley of familiar melodies; “This Little Light of Mine”, “Twinkle Twinkle Little Star”, “Mary had a Little Lamb”, “Bah-bah Black Sheep”… interrupted with vocals from a voice as raspy as the missing thimble and washboard. He played and sang as long as his wind lasted, and when he stopped Alizabeth stood and clapped.

We all clapped.

Haleigh Mae Lash - and Mom & Dad too

Okay. Today we’re going to have a short multiple-choice type quiz.

What significant event occurred today – February 17, 2009?
a.  Paris Hilton celebrated her twenty-eighth birthday
b.  President Obama signed his controversial $787 billion economic recovery package into law
c.  Haleigh Mae Lash was born
d.   All of the above

The correct answer is (c) Haleigh Mae Lash was born.  Although (b) could be perceived as having been correct, the key word was significant as far as I’m concerned. Duh on (a).

Haleigh Mae Lash is destined to be a very sweet girl because:
a.  She has a very sweet mother
b.  She has a very sweet father
c.  She has a very sweet sister
d.  She has a very sweet grandma
e.  She has a very sweet grandpa
f.  All of the above
Although the most logical answer would be (e), the correct answer is (f) all of the above.

Haleigh Mae Lash is a beautiful girl because:
a.  She looks like her mother
b.  She looks like her father
c.  She looks like her grandma
d.  She looks like her grandpa
This was a trick question. Remember, this is a multiple-choice test, so it is perfectly acceptable to choose more than one answer. The correct answer is (a) She looks like her mother and (b) She looks like her father.  I apologize to all who chose (d), which would have been acceptable had it not been overwhelmed by (a) and (b).

This concludes the test. Congratulations to those who got a perfect score, and congratulations to all of the family and friends who love this little family so very much; Josh, Jodi, Ali, and Haleigh.

Our world just got a little better today! thanks to:
a. Haleigh’s mother
b. Haleigh’s father
c. Haleigh
d. All of the above

Several months ago, Claudia and I took Rachel on a shopping trip to Wal-Mart. There was a purpose; to find a certain toy that had captured Rachel’s fancy. Unfortunately the toy was not in stock, but we did find an acceptable alternative. As we were standing at the checkout while the attendant, Mary (or someone wearing Mary’s name tag), scanned our items, Rachel turned to Mary and said in her sweet little three-and-one-half-year-old voice, “Hi.”

“Hi sweetie,” replied Mary. “Are you doing some shopping today?”

Still leaning somewhat awkwardly, almost upside down, over the back of the shopping cart child seat Rachel answered, “Yes, my grandpa bought me a new toy!”

It was a cute, short conversation that was soon forgotten by Mary I’m sure, and it had faded from my memory as well – until recently when it suddenly resurfaced as I was reading a book authored by cognitive scientist Steven Pinker, The Stuff of Thought: Language as a Window into Human Nature. The Wal-Mart conversation was mindfully resurrected in a flash while reading that …Babies are born into the world not knowing a word of the language being spoken around them. Yet in just three years, without the benefit of lessons, most of them will be talking a blue streak, with a vocabulary of thousands of words, a command of the grammar of the spoken vernacular, and a proficiency with the sound pattern. Children deploy the code of syntax unswervingly… A few pages over, Mr. Pinker tells me that Language itself is not a single system but a contraption with many components. To understand how children learn a language, it’s helpful to focus on one of these components… the component that organizes words into sentences and determines what they mean… syntax.

Oh, the things we take for granted. I doubt that Mary, the Wal-Mart girl knew about this. I certainly had never given it any thought.

Over the past four years we have accumulated quite a few children’s books, from infants to now, beginning readers. One of the favorites has been Clap Your Hands, a little Sesame Street book that has a built-in Elmo (who is also three-and-a-half) finger puppet. The reader can stick his fingers in Elmo’s little arms and make them clap while singing “If you’re happy and you know it, clap your hands!” Recently as I was slightly preoccupied with something in my office, three year old Alyvia loudly announced while descending the stairway behind me, “Yook pa-pa! I have the crapping book!”

“The crapping book?”

“Yes,” continued Alyvia as she wiggled Elmo’s little arms, “Elmo is crapping!”

Great syntax… needs a little work on the letter ‘L’.

Even little one-and-a-half-year-old Alizabeth has entered the syntax game, “Hi pa-paw… how are you?”

“I’m fine Ali, but my knees are a little weak just now, thank you.”

Thanks now to Steven Pinker, my throat constricts, my eyes water, and my nose starts running whenever I hear these bits of toddler genius. No, the word, genius, is not being lightly used. Mr. Pinker told me in another of his books, The Language Instinct: How the Mind Creates Language that The three-year-old, then, is a grammatical genius – master of most constructions, obeying rules far more often than flouting them, respecting language universals, erring in sensible, adult-like ways, and avoiding many kinds of errors altogether.

They listen, they analyze, and they put the words together – right before our ears.

As I was paying for our new Wal-Mart merchandise, Rachel turned to Mary once more and said, “I love my grandpa!”

I’m not a genius, I’m not quite sure even what a cognitive scientist is, but I do know perfect syntax when I hear it.

It’s happened to us all. A tune pops into our head, sometimes for no apparent reason, and can remain there for a few moments or even a few days. We may enjoy it at first, but if it remains too long it can become maddening. A couple of tunes popped into my head a few days ago, they are still there, I know the reason, and I’m still enjoying them.

The first tune – This Little Light of Mine;  the reason –  Layla.

Layla is our fourth granddaughter, another little light in our lives that started to shine July 3, 2008. Amber and Brian are the ones who are responsible for turning on this little light and they have been pretty radiant themselves since flipping the switch. Layla is a little light, but not too light – she weighs nearly seven pounds.

As we were sitting in the waiting area at the hospital prior to her arrival, that song just popped into my head – This little light of mine – it’s still there – I’m gonna let it shine – it’s okay if it stays a while longer – this little light of mine – I listened to it on our Raffi CD in the car – I’m gonna let it shine – and it might even get stuck in your head too – This little light of mine, I’m gonna let it shine, let it shine , let it shine, let it shine…

Oh yeah, the other song? Layla.

Layla, you’ve got me on my knees.
Layla, I’m begging darling please…

I was an only child for a while – six years and nineteen days to be exact, which is more than enough time to become really self-centered –  and it was pretty nice while it lasted. When I did get word that my only-child days would soon be over, I started praying for a little brother and dreaming about having someone I could play ball with and do guy things with.  I got a little sister instead.  I was a little shocked and disappointed at the time, but I got over it.  I eventually got over some of my self-centeredness and learned to love my little sister – still do – always will.  Six years later I got a little brother, which just goes to show that God does answer prayer.

Sometimes it was kind of lonely being the oldest sibling. I had friends who had older siblings and it sounded kind of neat.  Hearing some of the stories about their experiences with their older brothers or sisters – especially the ones about giving big sisters a hard time – sounded like loads of fun.  I was a pro at making life miserable for my little sister, so I just knew that I would have been really good at irritating a big sister.

This big-little sister stuff came back to me in a flash when I received this photograph of little Ali:

I wonder if this is how I might have looked when I got the word that I would no longer be the only one to have toys under the tree on Christmas, that I would waste many hours of my life waiting to get into the bathroom, that I would no longer be the only child.

Nah… I probably looked more like this:

I don’t know if I did a very good job of being a big brother, but I am sure that Ali is going to be a sweetheart of a Big Sister.

This is how I know:

Congratulations Big Sister! – and Mom & Dad too!

What are little girls made of?…

The past few times that Rachel has come to visit, we have gone through the same routine upon her arrival.

“Lets go upstairs pop-paw, and listen to some music.”

We have converted Rachel’s mom’s old bedroom to a make-shift playroom; complete with a small bed for overnight stays, a rocking chair, lots of toys and books, a CD player, and an assortment of Baby Einstein and Raffi music. Rachel’s favorite lately has been Baby Einstein’s Wake up and Goodnight.

“I want to hear Wake up and Goodnight!” she says while grabbing the “jewel case” that contains the currently beloved music that has managed to surpass Baby Bach in popularity – at least in the house. (For some reason she prefers Baby Bach when riding in the car.) She is three years old, cannot yet read, but somehow has come up with a method for correctly identifying the jewel cases and their contents.

I load the CD, Rachel presses the “play” button, then she turns to me with hands in the air and says, “Pick me up pop-paw.” I pick her up as she commands “Let’s dance pop-paw!” and the music begins to play. It is always a magical time.

sugar and spice…

The music starts with a “Tune-up and fanfare” that is Baby Einstein’s brief interpretation of Franz Schubert’s Symphony No. 8. We waltz, spin, then glide down the hallway to Claudia’s sewing room. She calls out, “We’re dancing Grammy!”, as we dance our way back to the playroom. Our hearts belong to her.

and all things nice…

Just as the first track begins to segue into the next, she suddenly lifts her head from its resting place on my shoulder and says, “I want to see the bird poop on the window!”

“Bird poop on the window?”

“Yes, on that window over there. It has bird poop on it. I want to see it.”

It is always a magical time.

That’s what little girls are made of.

Last night Mother Nature came a callin’ in my area code, and she wasn’t very motherly. She stomped through my neighborhood like a fourteen year old girl who had been denied something she wanted, but did not need. Sirens wailed, the stormtrakkers on the tube dazzled us with their latest meteorolgical visual aids while chattering continuously – taking little time to breathe; and then the satelite dish went out.

The rain came in torrents. The gutters on my roof quickly filled to capactity and flowed over the edges. The wind howled and seemed to screech at me, “Here’s something for you!”, then lit up my house with blinding flashes of lightning followed immediately with thunderous echoless booms that rattled the windows still filled with the lightning that had preceded it. Flash… sizzle… boom! “And here’s another one!” Flash-sizzle-boom!

This morning when I looked out into my back yard, it did indeed look as if someone had had a hissy fit out there. Big limbs, little limbs, twigs scatterd over the entire lawn. Some still dangled in the tree, but my sixty year old dutch elm had remained steadfast, appeared to stand proud and only slightly battered amidst its own clutter. As I surveyed this scene I thought to myself, I know what the wind meant. I also knew what I would be doing for the remainder of the day.

Later in the morning, as I sawed, snipped and stuffed tree debris into Sam’s Club yard waste bags, my two and-a-half year old Alyvia came for a visit. It wasn’t long before she joined me in the back yard. Strapped on her shoulders was a small back pack bearing a picture of – Backpack (Dora and Diego fans will know what I’m talking about). The see-through bag was trimmed in purple and matched her purplish-pink clogs. She sat herself down on the hard sidewalk, opened Backpack and withdrew a blank pad and an assortment of crayons. She crossed her legs at the ankles and settled into drawing and coloring. I settled back into sawing, snipping, and stuffing.

Moments later: “Here’s something for you pa-pa!” A drawing; squiggled lines, crooked triangles, red circles.
Flash… sizzle… boom!

We both returned to our work.

Moments later: “Here’s another one for you pa-pa!” Another drawing; squiggled lines, a crooked square, a green circle.
Flash-sizzle-boom…

 Now… I knew what the wind meant.