If I could put time in a bottle, last night would’ve been a deposit I would’ve made. However, I can’t stop time and my little boy’s relentless march toward becoming a big boy continues. So I’ll just do the next best thing, blog on the memory. And while I likely won’t be able to adequately convey our adventures of last Sunday night, just the act of re-reading this, as I’ll eventually do, will likely trigger the emotions of the memory.
Erin was away for the evening, attending the HS graduation of her adopted sister and since we knew a graduation would not be a good place for Dawson, I had the late afternoon/ evening alone with my boy. As soon as he woke up from his nap, I strapped him in the jogging stroller and headed toward Cornerstone Park. We took our usual route; past the HS, through a newer neighborhood, then eventually through the older, tree-lined neighborhood.
As soon as I unstrapped the restraining harness of the stroller, Dawson tore off toward the playground equipment. As usual, he occasionally stopped his passionate run over the bridges and down the slides to get an approving smile from his daddy. One time, I had to keep Dawson from crashing the birthday party taking place in the shelter. Knowing he was hungry, we sat down at the picnic table and with legs swinging from the bench, Dawson munched down his peanut-butter crackers. Occasionally, he picked up the lid of the little orange container, looked at the cartoon drawing of a cat’s face on it and gave a “meeoow.” But what really melted my heart were the smiles he kept throwing up over his right shoulder, in my direction. Maybe that was just because I kept giving him more crackers. Or maybe it was because he was enjoying the daddy-son outing as much as me.
“I see dogs” was the enthusiastic answer to the question of whether we should go to the dog show happening the nearby 4-H building. Inside, the sight of all those dogs, the barking and the clapping almost over stimulated Dawson. And when I asked whether we should go to another park, I was given the reply “ut-her pak.” So we played on the playground of Gardner Elementary, Dawson fearlessly, then cautiously, running along the swinging bridge under the bright late-afternoon sun.
At first, he threw a mini-fit about the idea of leaving the park, but I explained we needed to go eat “dineh,” so he walked toward and climbed into the stroller. At home, he tried climbing into his booster seat and again got a big angry when I said we needed to go “bye-bye.” Although he didn’t understand what I meant, Dawson tried to mimic my explanation of where we’d eat with a “Ma-don-owd.”
At McDonalds, he kept trying to run behind the counter as I was waiting to order the food. He then pointed at the toys in the Happy Meal display and I thought, “wont’ be long before he’s asking for one of those.” And while the Chicken was too spicy, he sure wolfed down his fries. And again, I got some more heart-warming smiles as he ate the fries and swung his legs in the thin-air beneath his seat.
I eventually realized that since we were at a fast-food restaurant, it was a bit pointless to insist he eat some more bites of chicken before getting the “tweet.” So I ordered the treat of an ice-cream fudge Sunday and we shared the dessert together.
Later that night, my announcement that it was time to go “night-night” was met by an enthusiastic cheer, demonstrating just how tired my boy was. He grabbed the tooth brush and was trying to do it on his own before I even got into the bathroom. That version of the usual bed-time routine was enjoyable and sweet, reading the usual “Mouse” and “Moon” and singing about “Sunshine” and all the people in my little boy’s little world. With Monkey and Cow joining him underneath Blanket, Dawson quickly fell into a much needed sleep. Though the fact that I forgot to give pain medicine to the teething boy made for a rough night’s sleep.
I can’t hold onto my little boy, keeping him a little boy. I can, however fiercely hold onto the memories; keeping the memories from fading the way my suntan from Sunday afternoon is already fading.
