I’ve been keeping a list of all the funny things my little Rhett grandson says. He’s here visiting from North Dakota and his momma is helping us with the paper so she and I basically tag-team the three-year-old all day. She more than me, I tap-out of that activity fairly often.
But man. He is a hoot. He told me the other day he is only going to eat ice cream and snacks this year. So we go to Harmon Junction a lot when his mom isn’t looking.
We also go hiking a lot. His mom says she’s pretty excited she’s managed to keep him alive this long, and I think the hiking helps. He gets tired. She gets a break while he and I are hiking and then she gets a break when he falls asleep early, exhausted.
He likes to have a dance party, “with all my friends.” That means an arm-full of stuffed animals and two real-live dogs. We also got to have movie night when I kicked his mom and dad out for a date. We were both super excited – we picked a cool spy movie with a little girl and this big wrestling-type guy. Then I got us some exotic cheeses and some fancy crackers, and we made this whole tray full of snacks. We sat down with our delicacies to watch the movie and pretty soon he’s up going to the fridge. For a Lunchable. And then he ditched me for his tablet and YouTube.
Last weekend we went exploring and took our hike at Hidden Caves. Oh man! As soon as he rolled out of the truck and hit the ground it was, “Gramma there’s a TRAIL.” And running up the hill he explained with a lot of genetic hand-gesturing that “Gramma. I’ll go in the cave first and make sure there is no bear and then you can come in.” Then he explained that if I fall down he will save me.
But the coolest thing was when he went on this whole, mostly unintelligible rant in which he went into great detail about how, “I really like saving my own self, Gramma.”
And then he did fall. With a spectacular splat, face first, going down-hill at a fairly brisk pace. Silence. Three-year-old embarrassment. Picking himself up and pretending I don’t exist. Mad and stomping down the hill trying his best not to cry.
Of course, in the next moment he’s running to read the little sign on the side of the trail, telling me, “Number 7 – no shooting, no dogs, no triangles (the symbol for tent).”
I’m all worried asking if he’s ok and trying to assess the scrapes and how much explaining I’m going to have to do with his mom. But he just says again all matter of fact, “I just really like saving my own self.”
There’s a lesson. I laugh because it’s how I’ve gotten through life – saving my own self – and realize it must be genetic. What a great thought. What a great kid.
Keeping you posted,
Rachel
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