If you have ever wondered just where my silliness comes from, you needn’t look any farther than my mother. I come by it honestly, and I wouldn’t have it any other way.
My mother watches Baby C for me while I’m away at work,
blogging toiling dutifully and earning that bi-weekly paycheck. She enjoys having Baby C just as much as he enjoys going there. My mornings with him are spent mostly trying to keep him from running out the front door so he can go to Grandma’s house.
“Okay! Are you ready to go to Grandma’s house?” he asks me every time I make a move.
My mother plays this little game with Baby C. If he bends over or otherwise shows his butt, my mother says, “I see your smacker!” and smacks him (playfully, of course) on the tushy.
On Thanksgiving after a wonderful meal at Revis’ house, my urchins and I went home for the evening. The twins left around 9 because they wanted to go Black
Thursday Friday shopping with their mother. After they left I took Baby C upstairs for his shower. It has to be a shower. He’d much rather have a shower than take a bath.
We played “get you” while going up the stairs, which consists of putting my hands up like a zombie while I say, “Alright, I’m gonna get ‘im!” and him running up the stairs, giggling uncontrollably. Once we were in his room I plopped him down on the changing table and commenced undressing him.
Once his clothes were off and his diaper removed, Baby C turned and began smacking his ass with his left hand repeatedly.
“What are you doing, weirdo?” I inquired , perplexed.
“It’s my smacker!” he answered excitedly.
Of course, I laughed at his, and at my mother’s, silliness. We then headed to the bathroom where I readied the shower and helped him into the tub.
As Baby C played with his Cars bath toys and ran in and out of the stream of water gushing from the shower head while he sporadically reminded me that he was, in fact, taking a shower (Daddy! I takin’ a shower!), I was lost in reflection. I realized just how lucky my children are. I didn’t have the privilege of seeing my grandmother so often. We never lived in the same town. I never knew my grandmother the way my children know their’s.
My maternal grandmother passed away when I was 7. Until that time I saw her maybe once or twice a year. I didn’t really know her. The only real memories I have of her are attacking me with kisses at the beginning of every visit and asking mom if I had to let her do that. The twins will be 14 tomorrow. They’ve known their grandmother twice as long as I knew mine. They will have lasting memories that I don’t have. Baby C has probably spent more time with his grandmother in the last six months than I did my entire life with mine. And that makes me euphoric.
Baby C can smack his smacker all he wants. I am very happy he has the opportunity to be influenced by the woman who made me the man I am today.