-Laurie Benson©2019

We played all day
today, while your
mommy and daddy
carried the furniture
upstairs to all the rooms
in your new house.

I moved into my childhood
house when I was about
your age.  I still remember
looking through the cinder
block fence at the neighbor.
I thought he looked like
a pirate.

I know that four-year-old
minds remember things.
I know that you will 
remember that today we
caught honeybees and wasps
for my kids to study at
school.  I taught you not
to be scared of honeybees,
and then gave you a 
honey stick which you
sucked on for about a
half of an hour, literally
all of the honey that a
bee made in its' entire
life was in that one honey
stick.  You loved it.

We pulled apart a
sunflower to see the
seeds that your daddy
likes to eat.  You tried one
and spit it out in the garden.
They weren't dry enough.
Now the head of that
giant sunflower is hanging
on the fence to dry. We'll
pull the seeds out another
day when you come to play.

Earlier, we built a Lego
truck.  I was proud because
that's something I'm not
very good at...following
directions.  You kept at it
and motivated me all the
while, appreciating the little
Lego shovel and rake, and
small garbage can full of 
colorful pieces shaped like
fish, bananas and carrots.
We made a garbage truck
in the end, and you drove
it all around on the carpet,
dreaming of the exciting
life of a garbage man.

And then the pool.  On
such a hot day, how could
we not?  We played horsie,
speed boat and shark. Lots
of sunscreen for your fair
skin, and chips to snack
on while you waited for
a bit in the shade. You're
a lot like your daddy was
when he was little. He
wasn't afraid of the water
at all, and would often
jump deep down in,
nearly swimming to the
top, by about an inch, and 
then I would save him. 
No fear, as if he could
breathe underwater.

You told me that you
couldn't sleep over because
you had no pajamas. We
solved that by going to the
store and looking for some
on clearance.  The ones you
picked are pastel striped,
pink-yellow-purple, with little
hearts on the stripes. We also
bought a Monster Truck with
a remote control. Yes, it was
a grandma moment.
I watched you play all
evening on the driveway
with the truck, crashing
it back and forth into the
curb or the brick pillar
of the house.  Then we came
in and got in the pjs that you
picked out.  You said they
were so soft that you hoped
that you could wear them
even when you were five.

Now you are asleep, the
smell of sunscreen and outdoors
in your hair.  You snore a little
bit, and the room is warm, but
you pull the blankets up tight
around your neck.  A yellow
stuffed duck sleeps by your
side, one that you have had since
the day you were born. I call him
"Grubby Ducky," and that makes
you laugh, but you love that
duck almost too much.

I realize as I walk back to
the kitchen that Monster Trucks
and rainbow striped pajamas 
don't make you a boy or a girl.
They make you a human, with
choices, likes and dislikes.
Being a grandma has allowed
me to step back a bit and not
shame you for choosing what
you like.  I like it too, because
it shows me you.

"Grammy," you said in the store,
"Don't you love rainbows?"
I said that I do love rainbows,
but I love that you love
rainbows more.