Life Goes On

It rained about forty-nine drops just now onto the very dry dirt around where I live. When it's been so long since we've had a good rain even forty-nine drops is a hint of promise. The smell alone is restoring and I always feel that the plants are opening themselves to it, smiling, if plants smile, and licking their slick green lips.

I have cheat- spaghetti simmering on the stove and the noodles are almost done. When did spaghetti and noodles turn into pasta? I suppose when jeans became designer, or at least around that same time. Whatever. I am cooking spaghetti with chicken and tomatoes and onions and peppers and garlic and capers and mushrooms. It'll be good, a nice plate of that with a slice of sourdough bread.

It was such a good day today. Right up until the moment I let my grandson fall off a bar stool.
God. I feel like the worst grandmother in the world. We'd been laughing so hard because he was covered with yogurt. I'd given him a bath and then we ate some yogurt together and as he does, he grabbed the spoon and although he's pretty good with it, he can't help but paint his face and I laughed so hard at him that he laughed too, and then I set him on the bar stool and turned to get the washcloth and boomp! right over and oh, he cried and my heart stopped but he was fine. He cried for less than a moment, mostly shocked, I think, and he may have a few bruises but nothing was broken, nothing was bleeding and in a few moments he was his own happy self, trundling around and finding things to take from their places and remove to the floor.
But still, I felt so bad.
Accidents do happen. But I should know better than to turn my back on a child on a bar stool. Okay, it has a back on it. It's not like just a seat perched up in the air. But still. I shouldn't have turned my back.
And that tiny moment- that moment which could have changed so many lives- brought me down so far.
Kathleen pointed out that he has learned a valuable lesson about gravity and height. That maybe he'll grow up to be a scientist of some sort. A physicist?
Harumph.
She's so sweet.
And his mama and his daddy seemed not to be worried about it but still- but still!

I love that boy with everything in me and I would rather cut my arm off than see him hurt. We all know that. It's not a matter of that. It's a matter of one second of inattention. And it just makes me feel so bad.

Well, there you have it- my confession for today. Up 'til that moment, like I said, I couldn't have had a better time. Owen is getting sweeter and smarter every day. I say, "Owen, we need to change your diaper," and he heads off to the guest room where I do that. I say, "Let's take your shirt off," and he puts his hands in the air. I say, "Take this napkin to your Pop-Pop," and he does, so proud.
Okay, so he has a little devil in him too. He's learned to take the stopper out of the bath tub and I tell him no, and he looks at me like, "Uh-huh, what are you going to do about it?" and the takes the stopper out and holds it and doesn't take his eyes off my face.
"Where'd the water go, Owen?" I asked him today when he did that little trick and all of the water drained from the tub.
He was completely mystified. I figure that eventually he'll learn that if he takes the stopper out, the bath water goes away.
This is how we learn.
Pull the stopper, the water runs out.
Let the boy sit on the stool and he might fall off.

Ah me.
Well. He'll be back tomorrow. If his parents trust me with him.

I'm exhausted. The rain has quit. The plants are still thirsty. Owen is okay. I'm not the worst grandmother in the world. I'm a human being.

So are you. We do our best.
And yet. And still.

Sometimes we could do just a little bit better. Or at least I could.
And tomorrow Owen and I will water the plants. He loves that.
And I won't be setting him on a bar stool. No way, no how.

But I bet that if I give him a bath, he'll take the stopper out, watching me to see what I'll do and he knows what I'll do- not one damn thing but laugh at him when all the water is gone and then fold him up in a towel and dry him off and tickle his tummy.

He's my grandboy, my world, and I let him get hurt today. Thank god he's all right. Thank god he's a sturdy little man.

Life goes on. Thankfully, it does.