Baby Grand's Day in the Park

Violet Picking on Mother's Day

Just a few refresher points to fill in the background story for new readers and for those readers who don't remember every detail of every blogger's life. (I am always surprised by those readers who do.)

Point 1: John and I like spending time in the cemetery. We do not find this morbid; we think of it as spending time in a park.

Point 2: The grands are 5 and 4. The baby grand is quite a handful.

Point 3: John and I are not spring chickens. We are not middle-aged. We are old.

Point 4: The grands have new bikes. And helmets.

Point 5: My son had his wisdom teeth removed last Friday.

Point 6: The baby grand is quite a handful.

When the weather turned to something resembling spring a few days ago, I began to dream about taking the boys bike riding in the cemetery. It's larger than their driveway; the roads are paved; there's nearly zero traffic. It sounded like quite the lovely plan.

Their parents were fine with the idea considering one couldn't think straight and the other was busy as could be caring for the one who couldn't think straight.

So it was with great anticipation all the way around that the boys arrived with bikes, helmets, and high hopes. First, we'd go out for supper at our local eatery and take it from there. They were told that if they ate good suppers, it'd be bike riding time. They nearly ate the restaurant down. I had to assure them that, if they were full, it was okay to quit eating. Since their eyes and tummies were bulging, they welcomed the news.

Baby Grand was a bit of a handful at the restaurant because he was more interested in the booth behind us than what was going on in our own. Never fear. This nonni straightened him right around each time dangling bike riding like a carrot ever before him.

We may be idealistic, but John and I are not stupid. We knew that there had to be rules so we began laying them down on the block and a half to the cemetery and again when we arrived. The boys would listen. They would stop when told. They would pull off the road if a car came. They would keep circling around to allow us to catch up. They would not go fast. They would not go fast and put their brakes on just to lay skid marks. They would not ride on any graves.

Too many rules?

For three minutes everything went according to plan. We walked briskly and kept up nicely. Then Baby Grand put on a burst of speed and made it to the corner taking a sharp right. "Stop." "StOP." "STOP," I bawled. Baby grand looked back and saw me bringing up the rear and took off in another burst of speed wearing a little Baby Grand grin.

Thinking quickly (perhaps for the first and only time), I scampered across the corner leaping past gravestones and markers "Oops, sorry, Mr. Reynolds...Excuse me, Hazel" until I nabbed Baby Grand. He was some surprised as he never expected me to come out ahead of him.

Again the explanations, which now included, "This is your last warning. If you don't listen to Nonni, you won't be riding your bike." He seemed to understand; at least, he nodded his head at all the appropriate places.

I turned him around and headed him for the back of the cemetery, the safe side. And off he went in a little cloud of Baby Grand dust.

For a while I kept up nicely. Really I did. John and the Older Grand were happily spending time way on the other side of the cemetery.

It soon became obvious that Baby Grand was not going to STOP. He was chugging his way up a steep incline. It wasn't long before I became aware of another chugging going on to my left. I looked and there was John jogging along. He shot me a what the heck are you doing look, which I responded to with lots of huffing "He is not going to be able to make that hill!" John huffed back, "Oh he's going to make the hill all right. Look at him!" Sure enough, sturdy little legs were still pumping along as the bike climbed ever higher.

The good news is that John reached Baby Grand just as he and the bike crested the hill. Baby Grand did not crash down the large embankment 70 feet away. I arrived seconds later as did Older Grand.

"That's it, Buster. You're not riding your bike anymore today." A nonni knows her limits after all.

John walked the bike back. I walked Baby Grand back. Older Grand rode his bike back somberly.

Later Older Grand told me that riding in the cemetery wasn't that much fun because he was terribly worried about his little brother. Me, too. Me, too.

Baby Grand and his dad

Postscript:

Baby Grand is a dear little boy. He is also autistic. He began going to a special school last summer and goes year around with no more than a few days off. He'll be going all summer this year, too. We are delighted that he is responding well to all that he has been taught, that his vocabulary grows by leaps and bounds, that he responds appropriately to hugs and kisses. He is not the one making the mistakes. I am. I hope that some wonderful spring day in the future, we can try bike riding again. I'll be taking along extra helpers. I have learned my lesson.