It's all quiet here. Jill hasn't come out of Charlie's room yet. He still goes down with a bottle of milk. "Mooky", he calls it. "Mooky and Silky." His bottle of milk and his blue silk blanket are a quite the combination. Alone they have unique functions. The bottle of milk quenches the thirst. Silky calms him when he is afraid. Together, however, they become something else. Together they send off into deep sleep. Jill and I each have our own favorite ways to put him to bed. Jill likes take him inside his bedroom. She sits in his rocking chair. She lays him across her lap, rests his head on a pillow in the crook of her arm. Charlie holds the bottle with one hand and Silky in the other. In the winter, it's a little space heater, in the summer it's a fan that creates the relaxing white noise. Since it is the summertime and it is nearing ninety dry degrees outside, the fan whirs and oscillates. Jill likes to sing softly to him. She is not known for her singing, but it is soothing. When she is relaxed, the notes come out of her mouth rich like a dark stain on a wood grain.
She lulls him and rocks him. She lulls him with classic nursery rhymes like "Do You Know the Muffin Man" and "A Tisket, a Tasket." I can hear them over the baby monitor. Sometimes I just enjoy hearing their voices.
My neighbor is on his roof. He is wearing a ball cap and taking measurements with a yellow tape measure. He is German. He speaks with an accent. He is an engineer. His wife makes cheesecakes. She is an engineer too, but she also bakes cakes. She is also Germanic. Their daughter is seven. She plays video games. He has side burns. He has an air gun. He has been at work for the past year building his house. He is nailing plywood to his roof joists with his air gun. He comes home from work every night and builds his house, nail by nail. He had a foundation poured and started building the new frame around the existing frame. After the frame went up, he dismantled the old frame from the inside. The last piece was the roof. The old roof trusses came down in sections. He had to work quickly while his house was exposed to the elements. Unfortunately, he picked an El Nino year to take his roof off. He's had some bad breaks. It's been wetter this summer than any since 2000 when I moved to Colorado. Our grass should be brown now. But it's green. I mow it every week. That's twice as much as last year. The dark storm clouds usually begin to threaten from the West, rolling in from the mountains. I have watched them scramble to roll tarps out over the holes in the roof just as the raindrops begin to descend.
It was just that scenario the other day. Late afternoon. Darkening sky preceded by a tree bending gale. I took Charlie with me on the front porch.
"Funder!" He said anxiously as he looked up at the rumbling sky. In no time the ground swelled with moisture. Water gushed from the downspouts. The hot streets steamed as the cool rain hit them. I stood up and carried him out into the downpour. He shook his arms crazily. Harder and he would have taken flight. It must be awfully curious to be an eighteen month old being held in a summer shower beneath a thundering gray sky, streaked with bolts of lightning and buffeted by the wind. What a crazy experience it would be if you've never had it before. The sights, the sounds, the smells.
I spent the better part of Charlie's naptime yesterday putting a gazebo together. The neighbor inspired me. It had been in my garage since two falls before. I bought at the grocery store on deep discount. It wasn't too complicated to assemble. I have trouble with directions. I like the pictures. I do not like the words. It took me twice as long as it should have to erect the structure. I assembled the frame twice. First, the wrong way, then the right way.
I never really learned how to do anything from my father. My Grandpa would come over to our house and fix things when I was a child. He would bring an old painted chipped tool box. It was heavy. Inside it smelled like grease and metal and rust and WD-40. I watched him wrench loose nuts. And turn screwdrivers. And pound the heads of nails. I loved to watch him work.
After attaching the last Velcro strapping of the mosquito netting to the metal bar, I brought in white Christmas tree lights from a green tote in the garage and strung them throughout the canvas covered structure. I imagine God creating the world, adding the finishing touches and sitting back to relax and enjoy his creation. I do this after I paint a picture. I stare at it.
I stare at Charlie too. Sometimes I think, "I did that?"
It's usually when he is having his bottle with me. He now verbalizes his preferences. "Cold." He says when he wants cold milk. "Warm – mikawave." He insists when he wants his bottle heated in the microwave oven. I prefer to sit on the end of the couch. I can rest Charlie's head in the corner of the overstuffed leather armrest. I support his back with a chenille covered throw pillow. This frees both my arms. My beverage is able to sit on the lamp table. I open with Poe's "Ulalume." Charlie plays with a corner of Silky. The rhyme and meter of the audible lyrics rock Charlie back and forth between the dim lake of Auber and the ghoul haunted woodland of Weir. He knows the words. He can predict them now. He removes the silicone nipple from his mouth anticipating his favorite words; sober, sere, sere, 'tober, year. I sing him to sleep sometimes, but not often. I like Jesus Loves Me, Edelweiss and Down in the Valley. His little body is heavier when he is asleep.
Sometimes he begins to snore with the bottle in his mouth. His ninetieth percentile sized head hangs limply from his shoulders. His wet lips are parted. I wipe the drool and milk from his chin with his blanket, Silky. I kiss him and lower him down onto his crib mattress amid a half dozen plush animal toys. He rolls to his stomach, settles in against the bumper pad and pulls his bruised legs underneath his body. I drape him with a light cotton blanket. I remove an extra linen and a couple of stuffed animals. He stirs. I inhale. I turn his fan on. As the blade begins to rotate, I tiptoe out over the carpet and into the hallway. I close the door gently behind me. I exhale. I listen. He whimpers. I wait. I can only hear the muffled sound of the fan motor. Charlie is asleep.
No comments:
Post a Comment