Saturday, July 30, 2011

antics to which I should become accustomed

This afternoon, after we ran out of things to do and after a pointed request from the back seat "Park. Swing-a-swings. Slide, please, Dadda," we steered the car in that direction for the second time today, somewhat begrudgingly, as there was no morning breeze or shade or Starbucks to power us through games of chase and hide and seek.

Totally glad we went.

After about 15 minutes of swinging (she's an enigma. she won't sit still for anything, but put her in a swing? ...a zen calm rolls in like fog) another family begins the approach - a dad, an infant and a girl around Harper's age. Harper greets them "hi boy! (to the girl) hi baby! (to the baby)" Totally enthusiastic. Totally typical.

Harper swings on... watching the other family closely. From her Zen perch.

What comes next? The best/most embarrassing part of my day.

out of the blue, it begins:

"Hiiiiiiii Grandpa!" says Harper, looking square into the face of the other dad.

..Brandon and I just look at each other quizzically. I giggle nervously. I glance around. ...no Grandpa-looking men around. Just the other dad. In a ball cap, of average apparel, of average youthful appearance. Pushing their small baby in a swing.

And again, "Grandpa! Swing a swing!" Loudly. Pointedly.

Mild panic sets in, along with the inability to control my laughter.

"Grandpa! Come on! It'sssss Grandpa!"

All the while, I'm quietly shushing, telling Harper that it's not Grandpa. . . especially not hers, who looks NOTHING.LIKE.THIS.MAN. I giggle on. I can't help it. Harper knows she's tickled my funny bone, which only encourages her.

"Hi Graaaandpa. Grandpa's got a baby!"

At this point, I'm sending up silent prayers. I'm talking loudly over her trying to distract her. To drown her out. Anything.

"Grandpa, Grandpa!" ((more unintelligible toddler babble regarding grandpa, the baby and the girl))

Brandon is of no help at all. He's humped over in an adjacent swing, laughing silently, yet so furiously that I can see his back shaking in my peripheral vision. Which only encourages me.

After about 45 seconds of sweat-inducing swing peek-a-boo theatrics, I think she's forgotten Grandpa and Grandpa's baby 10 feet away and I begin to relax, yet remain fixated. ..as evidenced by the next thing that comes out of my mouth, "Hey, look Harper! Grandpa's swinging with you!" (I meant Brandon, obviously).

Which starts everything up, again. "Ohh, Grandpa!"

I collapse into a defeated fit of laughter as the other dad. . . (possibly mortified. possibly amused. possibly hating Harper's guts. possibly questioning his sense of youth & vitality) pulls his baby out of the swing having never acknowledged the hot mess of a family next to him and gracefully turns his attention to his 2-year-old on the slide 30 feet away.

I can't imagine all uh dis is going to get better. . . before it gets worse.

4 comments:

  1. It could be worse... when Emma tries to say "frog" it sounds very similar to, well, the f-bomb. And I guess she's learned it gets people's attention, so that only makes her want to say it more often and with more gusto! There's nothing worse than walking through the grocery store and my toddler lets out a loud F@$*! Not to mention there is no frog in sight, so no one believes me when I try to explain. Toddler antics, yes indeed.

    ReplyDelete
  2. lol, Martha!! My favorite thing is that you actually try to explain. I feel as though all would be lost. . . and I all I would do is die laughing..but that's me, living in a place where A. no one speaks English anyway and B. I wouldn't be the least bit surprised if everyone's 2-year-old in the grocery store dropped the f-bomb with abandon.

    ReplyDelete
  3. Baaaahaaaaa! Masi has a few moments under her 2.5 year old belt. Fork is a touchy word. Fork? You? Touchy sentence. Yes it never fails that r isn't hard when it needs to be. Did grandpa notice though? Lol.

    ReplyDelete
  4. oh.. Grandpa noticed, for sure. He wasn't 4 feet away from us while all of this was going on.

    ReplyDelete