The Energy of Children
My niece's daughter was unstoppable at a party this past weekend. I'm thinking that Avery is just about one year-old, little more, little less, because she was crawling around...but crawling quickly.
(By the way...I have no idea how old any kid is...ever. I often ask my own kids what grades they're in).
But we laughed a little as Avery moved through the grass on her way to the Bocce ball court. Her dad put her down and she smiled and began moving. Minutes later she was getting near the court.
As relentless as the rain.
"Put her in the woods," I said.
"Just trying to get five minutes of peace," he said.
And my mind played tricks on me back to those days.
"Can you change his diaper?" Kathy would ask.
I hated that particular direction.
Widely known fact is that I'm not great with tasks that involve my brain telling my hands which way to move.
Some might even say that I'm clumsy.
"He put the diaper on backwards once," my beautiful wife always says.
And I suppose that was true.
I do know that I always wondered why I had to even try it.
"You change the diaper," I'd say. "It takes you thirty seconds and it takes me eleven minutes and me and the kid are covered in shit at the end."
So.
I didn't change a whole lot of diapers.
Maybe twenty or thirty out of three kids.
Of course, Avery eventually made it to the side of the court and her Dad had to get up.
But there was a long pause as Avery held her position and her face contorted.
"She's pooping!" her Mom, who was engaged in the actual game, called out.
"Not it!" Avery's Dad yelled out.
"Oh, you're changing it," I whispered.
Moments later he was off, muttering all the way about the fact that he'd just changed one a week ago.
I thought about having to change a diaper these days.
Not going to happen.
You hear that boys?
Don't be bringing grand kids around here over the next twenty years and actually think that I'm gonna' help out.
Avery's Dad was back about eleven minutes later.
I didn't have the heart to bust his balls.
But I did turn to him with a bit of a smirk.
"Don't start," he said.
Poor bastard.
(By the way...I have no idea how old any kid is...ever. I often ask my own kids what grades they're in).
But we laughed a little as Avery moved through the grass on her way to the Bocce ball court. Her dad put her down and she smiled and began moving. Minutes later she was getting near the court.
As relentless as the rain.
"Put her in the woods," I said.
"Just trying to get five minutes of peace," he said.
And my mind played tricks on me back to those days.
"Can you change his diaper?" Kathy would ask.
I hated that particular direction.
Widely known fact is that I'm not great with tasks that involve my brain telling my hands which way to move.
Some might even say that I'm clumsy.
"He put the diaper on backwards once," my beautiful wife always says.
And I suppose that was true.
I do know that I always wondered why I had to even try it.
"You change the diaper," I'd say. "It takes you thirty seconds and it takes me eleven minutes and me and the kid are covered in shit at the end."
So.
I didn't change a whole lot of diapers.
Maybe twenty or thirty out of three kids.
Of course, Avery eventually made it to the side of the court and her Dad had to get up.
But there was a long pause as Avery held her position and her face contorted.
"She's pooping!" her Mom, who was engaged in the actual game, called out.
"Not it!" Avery's Dad yelled out.
"Oh, you're changing it," I whispered.
Moments later he was off, muttering all the way about the fact that he'd just changed one a week ago.
I thought about having to change a diaper these days.
Not going to happen.
You hear that boys?
Don't be bringing grand kids around here over the next twenty years and actually think that I'm gonna' help out.
Avery's Dad was back about eleven minutes later.
I didn't have the heart to bust his balls.
But I did turn to him with a bit of a smirk.
"Don't start," he said.
Poor bastard.
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