One of the services I provide for the little ones is the following: I lay on my back and pick them up by the waist, balancing them horizontally over me. I then work through a routine of vehicles. I waive them back and forth and say "helicopter, bukka bukka bukka" or perhaps bounce them and say "fire truck, reeoooreeeoooreeeooo."
I do this for Graham. I did it for Natalie, until she got too big.
Except, it turns out she was not too big, I was just too weak. Now that I've undertaken a program of push-ups to beachify myself (sit-ups come next), I find that I'm stronger, and can hoist all 6 years of her up over me, hold her vertical, and fly her around over me. And when I do this, little miss stubborn screech and pout and slam the door if there's no playdate or Graham won't share a toy or really for just any reason, Natalie has the calm, sweet expression of the two-year old that the helicopter evokes memories of. It's quite a transformation.
Wednesday, July 12, 2006
Helicopter, fire truck
Subscribe to:
Post Comments (Atom)
1 comment:
I'm catching up on your blog at home and George V wanders in to the room trying to avoid going to bed (it is now after 9:30). I tell him who you are and that he met you, I believe, at the Durham nature and science museum. He claims to remember.
Good luck on the pecs.
Post a Comment