Some days with the grandchildren are quiet and some are a whirlwind. Today was the best kind: full of songs, books, a little rain, and two very sleepy tykes by the end of it.
Old MacDonald, with a twist
We started the morning with Old MacDonald, but not the ordinary version. This one was just Fjor and me. We sang it with letters and with sign language, shaping each sound with our hands as we went. Fjor watched closely and giggled when it was my fingers that wouldn’t quite cooperate — those signs are trickier than they look — and that was pure joy. It turned a familiar tune into something the two of us were building together, one letter and one gesture at a time.
I’ll admit it — by the time we’d worked our way through the whole alphabet twice, I was starting to fatigue. Fjor, of course, could have kept going. There’s a special kind of stamina that only a small child brings to a song they love.
“Pop Goes the Weasel”
From there Fjor and I wandered into “Pop Goes the Weasel.” I didn’t get into where the funny old song comes from — I just looked up the lyrics so we could sing it right — but that was plenty. Fjor loved the fun of it, and I loved watching his face light up right on the “Pop!” every single time. The best part came later: long after we’d finished, he kept saying it to himself, “pop goes the weasel,” “pop goes the weasel,” like the phrase had taken up permanent residence in his head.
Every “Pop!” landed like a tiny firework — and hours later he was still saying it.
A walk in the sprinkles
Grandma joined us for a walk, and out we went — no jackets needed, since it was warm and humid with just a few sprinkles in the air. We walked slowly the way you can only walk with little ones, everyone together, every puddle worth studying. The soft, muggy weather didn’t dampen anything; if anything it made the whole outing feel like a small adventure.
Books and toys, all of them
Back inside, we brought out all the books and all the toys — the full treasury. There was reading and stacking and flipping of pages and the happy chaos of a living room turned playground. It’s the kind of mess I’ll happily clean up, because it means the day was well spent.
Freya finds her feet
And then a milestone. Freya did some walking, those careful, wobbly, determined steps that make your heart catch. I managed to grab a short video of her — proof, and a keepsake, of one of those moments that goes by far too fast.
Freya finding her feet — the highlight of the day.
The grand finale: a good nap
All that singing and walking and playing has to catch up with a person eventually. Finally, both tykes went down for a nap — and, blessedly, slept well. A quiet house at the end of a full day is its own kind of reward, the sweet punctuation on hours I’ll be thinking about long after they’ve woken up.
Days like this remind me that the ordinary moments — a silly song, a rainy walk, a first few steps — are the ones that turn into the memories you hold onto.
I spent a bone-chilling evening outside last evening watching my son, Carter, play baseball. The temperature dropped down to the lower 40s but the windspeed picked up as the night went on. There were a handful of parents from our team in attendance and the home team from Burnsville was absent any parents who were not coaches for the team. There was a lot of complaining about the weather from our team’s parent — justifiably so. The ball team was not immune to the low temperatures either. Carter caught the three innings and all of us in attendance could see the struggle he had keeping his throwing hand warm. In fact, several moms commented on the deep red color of his hand — a result of the cold temperatures and the brutal wind chill.
