The tiny boy, looking up at me with eyes so blue you could drown in them, is wearing rolled up blue jeans and his feet are bare.
“Fuit, please,” grandma, “I want fuit,” he pleaded.
The dog, Molly stands besides him, looking up at me equally pleadingly. The child has his fingers wrapped in Molly’s silky fur.
They both gaze at me beseechingly.
I try to figure out what fuit means, and finally it clicks. Grapes, Bananas. Strawberries. He wanted fruit.
The communication barrier was crossed, but really, it didn’t matter.
He had me at ‘grandma.’
I babysat three of my grandsons, Saturday. Two-year-old Jacob is the youngest. He is endearing and charming, traits which he has no clue he possesses which only serves to enhance them.
I knew the boys were coming.
I didn’t know about the dog.
The boys spilled out of their parent’s van eagerly, winter jackets not zipped up, snow boots hastily tugged on. I met the little trio at the door. I was so happy I was almost giddy. I had no idea how I would wisely wile away the hours with these three tiny musketeers, but it didn’t matter.
I knew it would be fun.
It’s weird how fun can land on your door step in the form of three small boys and one medium sized dog who thinks he is a giant Teddy Bear living in a dog’s skin.
Before the kids came, I felt weary. You know how you sometimes just feel weary of stuff. Like winter. Work. Laundry. Housework. And trying to eat healthy, exercise and be responsible. Every day.
But then the kids came.
And, suddenly it didn’t matter anymore that it was winter and my to do list did not even exist, let alone be checked off.
I felt young, energetic and happy.
And so it came to be that we wisely wiled away the hours of the day doing nothing very much at all.
And then supper was over and the dishes were done and they all piled into their van to go home; three little boys and one giant Teddy Bear of a dog.
And I collapsed on the couch. And so the story ended.
Treena Mielke lives in Sylvan Lake and is the editor of the Rimbey Review.