So yesterday I loaded Wifey into the aging SUV (2016 Lexus, with 34K miles -- no reason to replace it) and headed up to D1 and Joey's house. D1 was in NYC lecturing to a huge law firm on better eating -- she's become quite the corporate consultant -- and we were tasked with helping out with the grandkids.
D1 and Joey are NOT shy about asking for help. They had a nanny, who quit, but got the former nanny to come back and help on an ad hoc basis. But they also wanted some loving abuelos to help, and so we arrived to find the Baby Man asleep, under the watch of the nanny, and then our consuegra arrived.
I left to fetch the Little Man, who immediately asked where Wifey and D2 were, since they often accompany me when I get him at his pre school. OK -- I can in no way be objective, but his little voice and the way he switches from English to Spanish depending on who is talking to him is, well, objectively absurdly adorable.
We did one of our routines -- stopping at the local Aldi for "pink yogurt." It's strawberry yogurt that gets pink when he stirs it. He always picks one little cup from the refrigerator counter, and I take a second -- I pay with a credit card and figure the charge ought to exceed $1 -- each yogurt is 59 cents.
We arrived home to a happy group -- Wifey playing with the Baby Man, the nanny preparing dinner for him, and the still energy full Little Man looking for something to do. I suggested we walk to Biscayne Bay -- just down the street, and look for manatees. We explained they are Vacas del Mar, Cows of the Sea, and the Little Man was intrigued.
My consuegra felt bad leaving the Baby Man out, and so she put him in a stroller and the 4 of us left on our journey -- with the Little Man grabbing a frozen bagel to feed any fish that might be swimming near the Shorecrest seawall. This taught me a lesson -- taking something to "feed the fish" becomes something to "feed the Little Man" - he ate the thing before we got to the water.
After we crossed the avenue, there was a sad sight -- a large Muscovy duck was lying dead by the side of the road --freshly hit by a car. Two smaller ducks, presumbably her offspring, were near the body. The Little Man was sad, but Jacqui and I explained the big duck was sleeping. He fed some bread to the smaller ducks, but I could tell he had the sense this was more than avian sleep -- especially since the fowl were in the same place when we returned.
Still -- the Bay was gorgeous -- one pelican caught a fish, much to Little Man's excitement. He threw rocks into the water, while his baby brother watched. The breeze was delicious. I said my hellos to the souls of my parents -- proudly showing off their great grandsons.
We walked back, and Wifey and Jacqui played with the Little Man. I sat outside with the Baby Man as he crawled around, for a solid hour. We played some catch and chase, and I immediately thought of the last scene of Don Corleone from I. Would I keep over as I played a monster to my grandson?
Luckily, no ominous oranges were anywhere in sight, and I enjoyed the raucous laughter of the 15 month old.
Joey came home, and Wifey and I were relieved of duty. We headed over to our usual post babysitting spot -- Mr. Mandolin at the Vagabond Motel. It's in a gentrifying 'hood of Biscayne Boulevard -- apparently back in the 50s, the Rat Pack partied there late nights after performing on the Beach. The place was restored, and has a great Aegean Street Food place, with a fine happy hour. We order wraps, and though I was going to eschew an adult beverage, the owner, who knows me, reminded me vodkas are $5 before 7 pm, and it was 6:45. It seemed a sign from Above -- I survived the Godfather-like encounter, and was being offered a cheap celebratory drink.
We drove home happy and tired. Watchnig little ones is most certainly a job for the young. We feel so fortunate to have grandkids while we are sort of still young --ISH. Many friends had kids later, and are probably close to a decade from joining the grandparent Club. It's gonna be tougher on them, I know, when they try to run after crazy toddlers in their 70s.
And I got an email from my nephew Henry -- he's coming to Miami in early November. My California sister Sue, after telling us she was probably done with traveling, thinks she can make the trip -- from Fresno to us. Fresno's airport is FAT, the best abbreviation in aviation.
Anyway, my Florida sister and bro in law said they'd drive over from Tampa as well. If this happens, it'll be the first time my siblings and I are together since D2's wedding, nearly 3 years ago.
It may well be the final reunion, too -- tough to get us all together -- and the next major family Simcha is probably the Little Man's Bar Mitzvah -- and my siblings will be near or at 90 by then.
So hopefully this comes off -- a few days of togetherness -- talking of old times and times to come.
And if anyone runs around with the little guys -- no oranges allowed.
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