The Present

I have had to ask myself, over the past few days--Who is this docile (Spitfire) child that has invaded our home? And where is the real one—the one that keeps a terrible, rumbling roar close at hand so that its use can be swift and sharp and biting? I don’t have any really good answers, except that maybe, it’s the effect of The Present. The present phenomenon reminds me of the commercials that were airing around Christmas time—the ones that depicted a little boy playing Atari exclaiming about the best present ever, and then cutting to the boy, all grown up, doe eyed over a brand new car. I definitely remember my own Present—a baby doll that sprayed pretend tinkle after you fed her a bottle of water. My first day with said baby—Christmas day--I nurtured her single-mindedly, without regard to interested adults milling around our family gathering or cousins my age who tried enticing me outside to play or upstairs for a rousing game of pool. This is the same way that Spitfire behaves with her new fluffy cat that purrs, speaks, growls, and “snores” just like a real cat, and given a breadth of a second, she will artfully describe all of Valentine’s many attributes and functions in the form of a never-ending soliloquy, as she did to the few bored spectators at ice skating lessons last night. Such is her loyalty and infatuation, that I hear only one rancid, werewolf snarl when Destructo invades her territory and spreads yogurt covered hands across Valentine’s revered fur. Now, Destructo well understands the importance of this newly minted member of our family, touching him with light hands, respectfully, while keeping a wary, watching eye on Spitfire. He has decided that interfering with such a solid relationship between toy animal and docile child is not in his best interest, and instead, performs his best downward facing dog in the middle of the living room floor. He goes one step further than most yoga aficionados, and pushes forward, sliding his head against the carpet and moving around the room in that position, stopping only when he wobbles and falls over, then cackling loudly at his, apparently, hugely entertaining trick. Dart guy shakes his head at this. He’d rather see Destructo zig zagging around the room with a football, leaving pretend attackers scattered around on the ground in confusion. I try and reassure him. Maybe that will be next week.

Thanks to all the Edelweiss attendees! Birthday night for Dart guy was outstanding. I love you all for being great friends to dart guy and his family, for gamely performing the chicken dance with him, and for being warm and funny with the two youngest members of the “Happy” group. Thanks especially to Grandma Happy, for being the kind of Grandmother who allows daunting annihilation of all things not firmly attached or anchored down in her home. We love you.