for Micah

Once upon a time, which is now, the second summer of your being, you reign supreme in the province of Franna’s house. Each day holds untold wonders. Every moment is rimmed with pure gold; with every tick of the clock, you are gaining strength and power.

Speaking of which: You are enchanted by the grandfather clock in the foyer, even though it’s not working at present. You have discovered, if you stand close enough and jump hard enough, the bells will chime for you.

You are so proud of the two ponies you wear in your hair. When you are in your bed, fighting sleep, you pull the ponies out.

You are a study in language acquisition and word associations. Homonyms don’t throw you. Rock, for example. You understand perfectly well it means the big gray thing out by the woods as well as the movement of the white chairs on the porch. It’s one of your favorite things to do; a dozen times a day, you have your hand on the front door handle, asking to rock.

Another dozen times a day, you hold your hands up to me (got you) with the directive Watch. Birds. And I hold you at the windows where we watched the bluebirds going in and out of their house from early spring to summer, feeding two successive broods of babies until they fledged and flew. You mimic my whisper: Watch. Watch. You became especially fond of the Dada bird, so vibrantly blue, and you knew he was helping to feed his babies (often with a big bug in his beak).

Then you see Grampa in the rocking chair. He’s wearing his big black wristwatch. Your big brown eyes (so like your father’s, so like mine) miss nothing: Grampa watch. A thought flickers across your face. I get it, you say. Back in the house you go, looking for my watch on the kitchen table where it’s charging in a patch of sunlight. You slide it onto your little arm and hold it up with pride: Watch.

You don’t yet know about time. Tempus fugit, says the face of the grandfather clock. Time flies.

You will know this soon enough. For now you are exploring all the windows of your world. On tiptoe.

You know love. You rock your dolls (babies). You see the Gerber baby on the packet of yogurt melts that Franna always, always keeps on hand. Awww, Baby, you say.

You hug the Gerber baby, too.

Your curiosity knows no bounds. It outweighs your fears. You say loud when a plane flies over; you cover your ears, but you love planes. When they disappear from view, you say Bye, plane. You keep looking for another.

This week a helicopter flew over Franna’s yard and utterly captivated you. You are grappling with that word, helicopter (Franna understands it even if others can’t yet).

The hammering of the new deck construction is loud but you have found a just-right seat on the telescope base to watch the man working.

The Lowry organ in Franna’s living room is way too loud for you so we don’t turn it on; you are perfectly happy sitting on the bench, pressing the silent keys, flipping the couplers (that control pedals, special effects, swell, and great) up and down. That is, in fact, what you call the organ: up down.

You are learning to question. If a toy rolls under a table or bed: Where’d it go? When there are no birds outside the window, you call in your singsong voice: Birds, where are you? When you want to watch a music video on my phone, you pat my pockets or stick your hands between the sofa cushions: Where is it? Phont. I get it.

For you adore music. You sing. You dance. You ask for specific song videos (we know exactly what these are, don’t we): Na Na Na, Sunny Day, Shine, Ba Ba Minion, Giant, B-I-B-L-E. Not to mention do-do-do-do-doot-doot-do Bluey on TV.

You play drums with spatulas on my big kitchen bowls. One two, you say. We are working on three four.

You want to do the things you see your big sister doing. This summer, at age seven, she taught Franna how to play chess.

You are determined to play, too.

One of your newest words is try. You so want to do things for yourself. At twenty months you aren’t a baby anymore. Although you still like to be held. A lot.

You try. You watch. You shine. You show your love by curling your little body around your Franna so you can’t be put down. So Franna holds you for as long as you like.

Your Dada tells me that you are refusing naps at home and that you lie in your crib crying Frannaaaaaa…!

This is a great thing to your Franna. A very great thing.

Every moment of every day, you are doing great things.

I write them here for you, thinking of all the great things yet to be.

For that is what grandmothers are, memory-keepers.

Until the time your memories become your own, while we live this story of our beautiful once upon a time, which is now, oh, I cherish the keeping.

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with thanks to Two Writing Teachers for the weekly Slice of Life Story Challenge