HOPPIN'

Squeaky

Last Saturday evening I got a text from the Bear.

She informed me that Squeaky would not be coming to visit me on the bus.

She would be bringing Squeaky herself.

Yay!  Yay!  Yay!

The man got such a kick out of surprising my kids

at Christmas...

that I decided not to tell him that they were coming.

Along comes Sunday morning...

I get a text that they are 30 minutes away.

Can I have some lunch ready?

Mikey P. is starving to death and any food will do.

I had nothing to toss together...

off I set to the take and bake pizza joint.

Unfortunately they were not yet open.

So I sat.

The man and T were in the shop working on cabinets

when the kids arrived.

Bear texted to ask where I was.

I said they were just now making the pie and to go on in without me.

They did indeed!

That's how it happened that when the man

went from the shop to the kitchen...

he found our unexpected guests.

It made him very happy.

Bear and Mikey P. could not stay long.

They had to go hunt for owl pellets.

(ick)

But they had a nice lunch and we had a good, if short visit with them.

Squeaky remained behind with us.

This made for a wonderful Sunday!

Since then, Squeaky and I have been having a nice, nice visit.

But he's here on a mission.

When I moved, I was teaching him to drive...

and his older siblings were supposed to take on that task.

That did not happen.

Siblings were busy with college,

new babies, etc.

So, yesterday we dusted off the old clown car

and took her for a spin.

Um, actually...

more like hopping.

There really isn't a whole lot you can do to help someone

learn how to make the clutch work.

It takes patience and trial and error.

The first day we giggled ourselves silly over the hopping.

By this afternoon, he was no longer laughing.
Frustration had set in.

X cannot drive legally.

But X knows how to drive very well.

I put X on the phone and handed it to the boy.

Squeaky asked questions.

He hung up.

Then carefully... slowly... slowly...

drove ahead.

Not a single hop.

What did X say that I had not gotten across?

Something about the ratio of this or that to match the force required...

blah, blah, blah.

Secret guy math/car sort of stuff that eludes me.

No matter.

It made sense to the boy.

It worked.

And the joy and pride on his face when he gleefully exclaimed

"Ha ha!  Now you are my bitch!"

to the clown car...

made it a pretty cool moment.



I told him that tomorrow we will venture out 
of the safety of the old parking lot and into the neighborhood lanes...
after he has practiced some more smooth take offs.
He has 4 more driving days here with me.
I think he will be doing fine by the time he goes back home.






He drives well enough in an automatic.
But X came into a bit of money and bought Squeaky a
used car... with a stick.
His permit is only good for one more month.
But I'm betting
with a car for a carrot...
Squeaky gets his license in a month.
 

FAMILY STYLE

My visitors have gone after four days of riot and chaos...

of the happy kind.

I miss the sound and sights of children,

especially this time of year when school begins.

It was a real treat for me to have Turkey and Bear here.

Grandpa Fuzzy survived, 

though with less enthusiasm.

He is used to a quiet life.

Children are not quiet when excited and happy.

Not that he was unhappy to see them,

just ready to have his quiet life back once they had gone.

So this morning I sat in my quiet on the patio,

sipping my coffee and reflecting on the past few days.

The man and I often talk about our families and how we were raised and how we raised our own mobs.

The man came from a fairly strict old school type family...

dad came home from work tired and ready to relax...

so mom shooed the kids aside and out of his hair.

Dad time for them came on weekends and vacations.

Unless someone was in big trouble and dad came on duty as the 

dreaded enforcer.

Children were supposed to be quiet unless spoken to.

They played in their rooms where childish noises were not overheard.

My home as a child was riot central.

My dad walked into the door each day and was met by

five balls of chaos...

all chattering at the same time...

all thrilled that dad had come home.

We were caught up in the excitement of dad!

He was equally happy to see us and tired his best to hear every word flying out of our mouths and to comment on them.

There were hugs and tickle fights...

and odd thing we called "fanny pats" when we had done something particularly good... like a good grade or something we had figured out.

Okay... break for explanation.

A fanny pat is where dad stands facing one way...

kid faces the other way...

hip to his tall leg.

Then you pat each other rapidly on the fanny...

much in the manor of birthday swats.

Believe it or not, it was a reward we all sought.

The point is that my dad came through the door 

wanting to see and enjoy his kids.

Both he and my mother were children people.

I recall clearly going to other children's homes and coming face to face with the "Ssshhhh.... daddy's home!"

attitude and being confused.

Why did anyone have to be quiet around a dad?

They were fun people!

They were the center of a kid's universe.

Duh!

But I digress.

The point here is that I see a real difference between my upbringing and the man's and the affect it has on his kids and mine.

The man has a great family.

They all get together fairly often.

However, they are more serious and sedate.

They are less affectionate toward each other.

Hugs are quick and happen on leaving.

Sort of like that French fashion of  quick kiss on the cheeks.

My family is just as chaotic as the one I grew up in.

We are random huggers caught up in the joy of being together.

The man actually likes this about my kids.

Chatter begins as soon as we are in ear shot of each other 

and we are still calling things to each other as they leave.

So as I sat here reflecting...

I thought perhaps it is a good thing that the man and I met later in life.

I could not have parented any differently than I did.

I can see how our parenting styles would have come into conflict...

had we raised children together.

Fortunately we don't have that issue to worry about now.

I'm not saying that either style of parenting is right or wrong.

Just different.

We are what we are... and we get it where we came from.

I still parent the same,

be it my grand kids or his.

I happily take on his grand kids for the most part

while he seeks shelter when he needs it in his shop...

coming and going as his nerves can take kid exuberance.

I don't mind a bit.

I like the noise, the joy and the random thoughts

of small people untarnished.

We had a wonderful visit.

Bear said that Turkey cried himself to sleep on the ride home...

saying "I miss grandma."

I shed a few tears myself once they were out of view.

But they will be back.

And we are always in some way

"together".