I love my 5 year old niece, I really really do. There's got to be a word short of pedophilia which describes the insatiable physical lust an adult can have for a particular child. And unless one of my kids buys me some granchirren, I may not have any and Lilli will be the closest I get to having one. Which is kind of all right because she's magnificent but even though we both agree that I'm an Old Lady she sometimes and accidentally calls me Mommy and then we get into Heather Has Two Mommies territory and it gets all effed up and that's my clue to go out to my office and let her Real Mother raise her thank you very much.
As much as the two of us love each other when her Real Mother asks me to "take her" for more than a few minutes I clutch. Like at my age what am I gonna do with a little kid? But, then my last better angel takes over and I say yes and such was the case today when Sister had to go somewhere (preferably without child) and instead of forcing her to drive Lilli to and pay for a baby sister (which I'm mean enough to do) while I sat around watching grass grow I was Surrogate Mother for the morning.
This morning involved delivering our neighborhood newsletter to local apartment buildings, and going over to West River Memorial Park to participate in a clean up. We brought along one of those cool tools that you can pick up garbage with without bending over. (God's gift to the middle-aged.) And she used it as a crutch krunking down the sidewalk holding my hand explaining that both her right and left legs were broken.
I'd prepped her the night before that we were going to do a lot a walking so she was up to it and, as is the case with this hyperverbal honey, we never ran out of things to talk about which is one reason we stopped at the local Dunkin' Donuts so I'd get a break for a few seconds while she had pink doughnut with sprinkles in her mouth. And I needed a break. A ream's worth of paper is heavy; especially after my second trip with it on my back in 2 days. Although everywhere we went this morning was only a few minutes away when your knees are a-throbbin' and your back is a-hummin' its enough to make you want to flag down a cab. (Oh wait! I'm in New Haven not New York! Snap!) I was the one who needed crutches.
We walked to the Park through one of the most asinine intersections in New Haven. The lights are timed for drivers, impatient drivers and even with the walk signal I had us running across the street (or what passes for running with cauliflower knees). No matter how fast you go the lights at Derby and Grasso change so fast you go from being a pedestrian to prey in no time flat. I for one can't wait until drivers who go through red lights can get shot. With a camera that is.
Safely on the other side we signed up, grabbed a black garbage bag and strolled along the rugby field looking for garbage. We were not disappointed. Sisyphus had his rock; modern Americans have their trash -- the wrappers, the bags, the papers, the cans, the plastic lids, the cigs, and so on. Lilli was a trooper. Because we had the trash gripper we were both entertained. But, after a while we both realized that filling the bag would require crawling into the brambles. (Oh, don't even mention all the gooseshit on the bottom of our shoes.) So, we worked for a few more minutes and then ran into an acquaintance. I was ready for adult conversation but no sooner had it started than Lilli interrupted me with a must-tell recounting of the fat lady who was crying. My acquaintance tried mightily to understand what she was saying. I didn't. It's like "Now you have to talk about this? Right now? Can someone else have my attention for 1 minute? Please?" So, cranky aunty that I am I just cut Lilli off.
And later when we were alone again she let me know it. "You hurt my feelings," she told me. And I leaned in all solicitous and asked her what I, I had done this time. She told me about the lady and goddamn if it made less sense then than it had a few minutes ago. The terrible thing about living with children is that you do get "it" after a while. (I say terrible because if you've become that good at decoding their idiosyncratic language, what does that make you? An idiot savant?) Not always on time or right then, but you do get it. She'd witnessed a woman freak out on the green the week before when she got separated from her husband. The woman frantically called him on her cell phone. I know this because Lilli's Real Mother told me the story when they got home, and Lilli was asking her if she found him.
She was still processing that when we wound up at another green expanse and that was the story she was trying in her inimitable 5 year old way to tell me, but I was too busy. Once my sister came to pick us up the mystery got solved. "Yes", she said, "the lady found her husband. I saw them on the green on my way to work a few days later." So now I know. Now Lilli knows. And as a bonus, she's graced me with her forgiveness, which clears the space for love. And God knows, I need it.
As much as the two of us love each other when her Real Mother asks me to "take her" for more than a few minutes I clutch. Like at my age what am I gonna do with a little kid? But, then my last better angel takes over and I say yes and such was the case today when Sister had to go somewhere (preferably without child) and instead of forcing her to drive Lilli to and pay for a baby sister (which I'm mean enough to do) while I sat around watching grass grow I was Surrogate Mother for the morning.
This morning involved delivering our neighborhood newsletter to local apartment buildings, and going over to West River Memorial Park to participate in a clean up. We brought along one of those cool tools that you can pick up garbage with without bending over. (God's gift to the middle-aged.) And she used it as a crutch krunking down the sidewalk holding my hand explaining that both her right and left legs were broken.
I'd prepped her the night before that we were going to do a lot a walking so she was up to it and, as is the case with this hyperverbal honey, we never ran out of things to talk about which is one reason we stopped at the local Dunkin' Donuts so I'd get a break for a few seconds while she had pink doughnut with sprinkles in her mouth. And I needed a break. A ream's worth of paper is heavy; especially after my second trip with it on my back in 2 days. Although everywhere we went this morning was only a few minutes away when your knees are a-throbbin' and your back is a-hummin' its enough to make you want to flag down a cab. (Oh wait! I'm in New Haven not New York! Snap!) I was the one who needed crutches.
We walked to the Park through one of the most asinine intersections in New Haven. The lights are timed for drivers, impatient drivers and even with the walk signal I had us running across the street (or what passes for running with cauliflower knees). No matter how fast you go the lights at Derby and Grasso change so fast you go from being a pedestrian to prey in no time flat. I for one can't wait until drivers who go through red lights can get shot. With a camera that is.
Safely on the other side we signed up, grabbed a black garbage bag and strolled along the rugby field looking for garbage. We were not disappointed. Sisyphus had his rock; modern Americans have their trash -- the wrappers, the bags, the papers, the cans, the plastic lids, the cigs, and so on. Lilli was a trooper. Because we had the trash gripper we were both entertained. But, after a while we both realized that filling the bag would require crawling into the brambles. (Oh, don't even mention all the gooseshit on the bottom of our shoes.) So, we worked for a few more minutes and then ran into an acquaintance. I was ready for adult conversation but no sooner had it started than Lilli interrupted me with a must-tell recounting of the fat lady who was crying. My acquaintance tried mightily to understand what she was saying. I didn't. It's like "Now you have to talk about this? Right now? Can someone else have my attention for 1 minute? Please?" So, cranky aunty that I am I just cut Lilli off.
And later when we were alone again she let me know it. "You hurt my feelings," she told me. And I leaned in all solicitous and asked her what I, I had done this time. She told me about the lady and goddamn if it made less sense then than it had a few minutes ago. The terrible thing about living with children is that you do get "it" after a while. (I say terrible because if you've become that good at decoding their idiosyncratic language, what does that make you? An idiot savant?) Not always on time or right then, but you do get it. She'd witnessed a woman freak out on the green the week before when she got separated from her husband. The woman frantically called him on her cell phone. I know this because Lilli's Real Mother told me the story when they got home, and Lilli was asking her if she found him.
She was still processing that when we wound up at another green expanse and that was the story she was trying in her inimitable 5 year old way to tell me, but I was too busy. Once my sister came to pick us up the mystery got solved. "Yes", she said, "the lady found her husband. I saw them on the green on my way to work a few days later." So now I know. Now Lilli knows. And as a bonus, she's graced me with her forgiveness, which clears the space for love. And God knows, I need it.
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