The Playdate

Rowing is the thing at our house.  Mary has been bitten by the rowing bug.  She is into the sport big-time.  After many years of having schedules and activities planned around soccer, a lot of what happens now revolves around rowing.  Nice to see her have the same passion about rowing that I once had for soccer.  She is so involved that she is now the President of her rowing club.  I believe that makes me the First Gentleman. 

She is so involved in the sport that she ignores the torn blisters on her hands when the next opportunity to row comes up.  She is not alone in this infatuation.  All the rowers thrive on getting out on the water in their long skinny boats whenever they can.  So it was a major disaster when Laura, one of Mary’s boatmates, was going to be unable to row because there was no babysitter available to stay with her two little boys one warm Tuesday evening.  

The previous gig.

It just so happens that Laura and the boys had been to our house once before when there was an important rowing pow-wow at our kitchen table.  That time I entertained the almost 4 and almost 2 year olds by digging my grad-student son’s Hess trucks and matchbox cars out of their cellar resting place.  We had a great time.  The guys were psyched to come back.  I have to admit I was also pleased, even if the three of us would be lacking adult supervision.

After the obligatory tippy cups, juice boxes and DVDs were dropped off, we men went right out into the back yard as the ladies left.  The automotive theme was upscaled, with both my son’s German made Kettcar and my own pedal-powered antique blue sedan available for driving.  Although they liked them, the pedals were a bit far from the seats for them, so interest was not held very long.  

Dawson, the senior brother, gave me a hand cleaning the filter for the fish pond.  It’s always fun squirting the dirt off the foam filter with a high power blast from the hose.  Emmett made good use of his time also, terrorizing the fish, first with sticks that lay about, and then by pushing some of the rocks surrounding the pond to a lower, wetter level.  But the fish were just a bit too quick for him.

The fish enjoyed this break in the action.

The pond fountain working once again, it was time to run around the fenced-in yard.  First they ran after each other, but that soon became old, and I was expected to chase them around as well.  None of us lasted long at this, perhaps due to anticipation of greater adventure yet to come.

Dawson leads the way

The gate leads out the back fence and into a short buffer of woods.  Halfway down the path, Emmett lunged forward to grab something on the ground.  He smiled and held up his trophy...a slightly soiled golf ball.  “Way to go, Emmett!  Put it in your pocket.” 

No sooner had he placed the ball into safekeeping when he lunged again.  “Another one!”  

“Great work, dude!”

Now I had my work cut out for me.  I started through the brambles off the path.  “C’mon, Dawson, let’s find some.”  Thankfully, the golfers had been playing shag balls this early in the year, and did not look too hard for them when they left the fairway.  I was able to stand near the next two and lament my failure to find anything as Dawson plucked them from their hiding places.  Score even, we headed out onto the fairway.  Soon to be dark, no one was playing the third hole.

A fairway must look like an endless running yard to young boys.  We ran around in circles and then toward the pines.  “What do you think, guys?  Want some pinecones?”

“No, I don’t like them,” answered Dawson, and that was that.  “Let’s go back.”

The sun was beginning to lose its warmth as it got lower in the April sky.  “Sounds like a good idea.  Let’s run!”  Dawson and I headed back toward the house, but Emmett was having none of it.  “Go this way,” he said, heading for the second tee.

“See you later, Emmett,” I said, continuing to head toward the house.  The score was soon Emmett one, psychology zero.  He was quite happy to head the other way without us.  The vast green opportunity was too much for him.  I ran after him, heading him off before he got to the second green.  He squealed with delight as I chased him back toward the house.  After a short detour over the piles of dirt the greenskeepers had provided, we closed the gate behind us.

Back in the house, it was time to break out the cars.  Dawson went right for the box of hold Hess trucks, complete with flashing lights, racing cars, and even an folding-wing airplane with a battery powered propeller.  Emmett preferred the matchbox cars.

“How will the trucks get up to the table?” asked Dawson.  The previous visit, I had placed a board against the table to make a ramp for rolling various cars down.  This time, Dawson was going to drive them to the top.  

Exploring additional automotive options.

After the cars lost their allure, we dabbled with marble guiding ramps that fit together to provide a multitude of ways to get a marble to change altitude.  I got to be the civil engineer while the guys did the heavy marble lifting.

All the while, the “Peep” DVD ran in the player.  Really simple animation, but very entertaining.  At least that’s what Emmett said.  

We even managed to consume a little food.  Dawson only had some bread and butter washed down with a couple of juice boxes.  It is a good idea not to hand full juice boxes to little guys who invariably grab them tightly.  Emmett, on the other hand, ate two large meatballs and two slices of a small pizza.  Evidently he has never heard the old adage that you should never eat anything bigger than your head.

The meatballs were flown in fresh by the Hess plane.

Much less magic than Mommy.

Unfortunately, Dawson was not feeling particularly well, and his sniffle grew into full grown distress as the evening went on.  As the marbles rolled down, his energy level also waned.  He started in on some half-hearted crying jags.  He needed Mommy, and try as we might, a little snuggling with me was not going to cut it.  I gave him our “ducky” blanket, letting him know that it was magic, and the ducks would have him feeling better in no time.  

It worked for a little while, but he needed more magic.  He was inconsolable, but content to be so while completely covered by the blanket.  

There didn’t seem to be anything more I could do for him, and his distress was at least partially soothed by the power of the ducks, so Emmett and I retired to the kitchen table.  There we took advantage of the natural reverberation from the tile and windows, trading animal noises at the top of our lungs until the ladies returned a short time later.