red ass sock monkey

Can you see them? The mittens? They’re drying on the lamp shade. Imagine a viewpoint that’s several inches lower; my granddaughter’s viewpoint. Pretty difficult to spot unless you know they’re there.

We’d been out romping in the first decent snowfall. Of course, after playing with snow, the mittens were wet. My granddaughter’s mittens are cute little knitted things, not insulated or waterproof, but enough to protect little hands during a short excursion on a 30° day. We came in as soon as I noticed how wet the mittens were. We took off our hats and layers of coats, and I draped the wet mittens on the inside of the lampshade, then went to make lunch.

Five hours later we were getting ready to leave. My daughter stopped by and we talked about the day, the three of us played together, then it was time to rummage through the big pile of blankets, sweaters, hats and coats to find clothing for the trip to the car. The monkey hat was easy, but the mittens are small; I couldn’t see them anywhere. Static could have them stuck to any of the blankets that draped, with the coats, over the old playpen, but they just weren’t there.

“Where are those mittens?” I muttered.

My daughter was about to help, then stopped and said, “Dad, did you see that? They’re here on the lamp.”

What my daughter had seen that I hadn’t was my granddaughter spinning halfway around across the room and stabbing her finger at the lamp. “She pointed to where you put the mittens.”

She hasn’t said mittens nor does she say lamp, though she’ll point to it and say on or off. At just over 18 months old, my granddaughter understood that I couldn’t find the mittens and she helped. I’m truly amazed. I’m thankful that we have the time to notice and appreciate the behavior. It really makes me wonder what else my granddaughter notices and understands even though she doesn’t talk about it? What is she thinking when, during a nap, I notice she’s awake and staring off into the distance?

It seems like it’s all of a sudden that at eighteen months my granddaughter has radically increased her vocabulary. She calls a horse a ‘neigh-neigh’, a pig an ‘iggy’, and a turtle is a turtle. She asks for ‘more’ and clearly says when she’s ‘all done’. She has a new found passion for ‘oh-nits’ which, considering the shape, may make more sense than ‘do-nut.’ But we’ve had a sense that she understands far more than she says for a few weeks.

Well over a month ago my granddaughter was on the floor paging through a book while her mother and I talked. I noticed a picture on the page she was looking at and on a whim said, “Honey, can you show your mom where the basketball is?” Without hesitation, she put her finger on the basketball that the boy in the drawing was holding. Several weeks ago, before a walk, I said, “Honey, could you go in my bedroom and get the umbrella?” After hearing that, my granddaughter seemed to perk up and toddled through the apartment and into my darkened bedroom. She came out hugging the large umbrella, one a few inches taller than she is. We put a small hairclip in her hair to help hold the hair out of her eyes. It gets pulled out pretty regularly and if I see a clip on the floor I pick it up and clip it to my shirt pocket or lapel till I get a chance to use it again. Last week she was sitting on my lap letting me brush her hair back. I held her hair with one hand and looked down at my shirt pocket. There was no clip. I looked on the end table and my desk without getting up and didn’t see a clip anywhere. I half muttered, “Where is that hair clip?” and my granddaughter turned her head toward me grunted as she stabbed a finger up at my shirt pocket. I hadn’t been able to see it because my pocket had flaps covering the clip. My granddaughter understood what was going on, and helped.

So I’m thinking she understands far more than I had been giving her credit for. That makes so much sense; haven’t I always thought that my clearest thinking came without words? Haven’t I solved the toughest problems without an inner conversation? And hasn’t my granddaughter learned to spend most of the day with someone who doesn’t really talk that much?

My granddaughter lets me play with her giant legos. I have fun playing with her, though I hesitate to say ‘we’ have fun since she usually takes apart the stuff I build. Except for, oddly, a house for the dogs in her dog collection to live in. And I think that over this holiday with her at her mom’s, I have some work to do on it.

She hasn’t really jumped on the blocks. I build stuff, she takes it apart. Again and again. Till yesterday. Yesterday my little 18-month old just built the little tower at the top of this post. Other than watching her skills putting the pieces together and finally making something I see as something, I was taken by the simple fact that she builds with the pieces upside-down. Or, truth-be-told, I build with the pieces upside-down. Who is to say? They’re her blocks, so I guess she is. Which brings me back to the work I have to do. Obviously, I need to turn the blocks in the doghouse over. For some reason, I think she’ll be checking on Monday morning

I’ve written about my sock monkey and his offspring before. When my granddaughter started trying to sneak into my room just to see him, I thought it would make another cute post. On the way to wordpress, though, memories washed over me and the nature of this post changed. Maybe the nature of today’s holiday?

Way back when I was around the age of 5, or 7, definitely in the 1950s, a neighbor three doors up from us brought me this sock monkey. Her name was Mrs. McCord, her husband was Frank and a daughter maybe ten years older than I, was Carol. Carol grew up and married a fellow named Wally and Wally went on to drive me to the hospital when I broke my arm. Frank and his wife were the first on our street to own a color television, and they invited my sister and I to their house one evening to watch a new show called Daniel Boone in living color. All of that is pretty impressive and even though I’ve always been thankful, I don’t think I ever passed on the depth of my gratitude. Frank and his wife may have passed on, Carol is probably in her mid-to-late seventies, and I have no idea where she’d be.

That’s sad. The thought that washed over me was a waking dream of me driving to Pottstown with my granddaughter and my monkey, finding Carol, and introducing my granddaughter and reconnecting Carol with her mother’s handiwork. My monkey comforted me on many scary nights and entertained me often when I was stuck inside. Carol would have to forgive the tiny bits of paper towel and glue around the monkey’s eyes. That’s where I glued a paper mask when my monkey was the Lone Ranger. Carol would hopefully forgive the poor sewing job this 9 or 10 year old did patching holes that I wore through the sock skin. And the string on the arms from when I tried to turn my monkey into a marionette. It took a lot of trying before I realized I needed strings on the head, too, otherwise he just hung, inactive, from his wrists. Poor thing. I didn’t mean it to be torture.

So thank you, McCords. You were wonderfully giving neighbors. I hope Carol has grandchildren of her own so that each can have a sock monkey. And I hope somehow you can feel the joy it gives me seeing my little one with one of your mother’s selfless gifts.

This past week my family lost its patriarch. He was a figure known, admired, and loved throughout the community. My daughter loved him. My granddaughter played on his lap. Though we’d been introduced and mumbled friendly greetings twice, I didn’t know the man. Regardless of differences, we managed to raise children that fell in love. That speaks to the potential for friendship, and I always thought that one of these days we’d sit down over some bourbon and have a friendly chat. Sadly, that will never happen.

What I feel mostly is the loss of that opportunity. I’ll regret it for the rest of the time I have, certainly. I can hear stories and look at pictures, but neither represents the man I could have engaged at any time. Now I fear the side-long glances from those who may have worked with him or loved him and deserve the sense of camaraderie with a hero. I do not. I do, however, feel protective of my granddaughter and daughter, and the man my daughter married. I know the family will recover and move forward. I so wish my daughter had that extra person to rely on. I wish my granddaughter had a “Pap.” And I wish we would have had a bourbon or two before he left.

My granddaughter is just about 15 months old and, although she isn’t talking, she’s finding pretty effective ways to communicate. Her mother and I just need to learn her language. Several days ago she surprised us by shaking her head “no” when we asked if she wanted a drink. She hung her head slightly and shook it like she was trying to get a fly off her nose. Yesterday she surprised us again with a “yes” headshake when we tried to confirm what she wanted. Yes and no are pretty handy.

Friday morning, though, she gave me a bit more. We have two stores that we go to regularly; one we can walk to, the other requires a car ride. So when I asked if she wanted to go to the store, I qualified it with “in the car?” She smiled, looked bright and positive, then pointed to the picture of Sophie the giraffe that’s on the wall. I figured she wanted to carry her along- we had before. I looked, but a quick glance didn’t reveal the plastic giraffe; I grabbed her stuffed Pout-Pout fish instead.

We walked to the car, grandchild in our BabyBjorn and me with a hand on the fish. I unlocked the car door and started to transfer the child to her car seat when she pointed. At Sophie. The plastic giraffe we left in the car the last time we went to the store. Smart kid.

In another few weeks, my grand daughter will be a year old. A few weeks after that I’ll have been her caregiver for a year. It’s been and continues to be great. As an update to anyone curious about how I spend my time, I’ll say that I’ve stopped any pretense of free-lance. I also avoid the graphic design favors that used to take up so much time: I hate to disappoint friends, but I only have so much time and energy, so much capacity for focus. Most seem to understand. Maybe things will change again.

The first photo is a snapshot across my ceiling. A star field. It was a real kick the first time her face lit up with a smile and she pointed to the stars. She points them out now every day. The characters are drawings that are, like the stars, hanging on monofilament line. They represent familiar toys in our world and, like the stars, evoke a smile of recognition. I’ve never felt my work has been more appreciated. They’re simple, fun to do cartoons that first, amuse me. Paper is fun. We’ll be getting crayons pretty soon.

This is the weekend. I’ll have a few moments to think and draw, and another character will pop up for Monday. Better get to it; this post has already taken more time than I expected.