The piles of paper snips on the dining room table, the counter and the floor underscored the fact that Sophie and Sam had come to visit, first with us then Aunt Sharon, while their baby brother, Henry, had heart surgery.
We met my son and his wife for a picnic lunch at a point part-way to their home in St. Louis. A few minutes into the long ride to our house Sam asked, “Are we there yet?”
“No.”
“Are we there yet?”
“No, Sam.”
“Are we there yet?”
“I don’t know, Sam. Are we there yet?”
“No.” He did not ask again for a long time.
But he did ask for a toy.
I had come prepared with several unopened packages from fast food children’s lunches I found at yard sales. He and his sister opened the plastic plunder, tried the gadget, pushed a button and then Sam said, “I want another toy.”
We went through the pile of toys and recycled them back to him a couple of times until I realized the simplicity of the cheap, plastic toys failed to hold his interest for any length of time.
I rummaged through my catch-all and pulled out a manicure set. Taking out the sharp stuff, I handed him the zippered case. He spent a long time contentedly moving items in and out of their elastic holders. He dropped a few items for me to find later – a price I gladly paid to stave off his requests for another toy.
Even with a DVD player, riding for hours is boring; so we stopped often and let both children just run and play. The next day, while baby Henry went through pre-op tests, Sophie and Sam went through our toy cupboards and craft closet.
Sam sorted and tested each toy. He really likes to try all the mechanisms and announce any accomplishment with a grin and a shout of, “I DID IT!”
Baby Henry had to wait all day for his surgery, but Sam and Sophie waited for nothing. They wanted a book read to them; we had time to read. They wanted a snack; we suggested something healthy first. Sophie’s glasses needed a screw replaced, I took her to the eye clinic.
She told the tech all about her little brother wrestling with her and breaking her glasses and about her other brother having surgery to fix a hole in his heart and that she was just visiting grandpa and grandma.
Sophie is a very social child.
She is also an enthusiastic paper snipper. Fortunately, we keep a fairly large stash of craft paper. During her four-day visit, I regularly gathered up piles of paper circles, squares, spirals and snips. The trash can overflowed, the paper pile dwindled, but her enthusiasm did not.
Neither did Sam’s. He pretended to mop the floor with the toy mop and then swung it around like a sword until we noticed and squashed his fun.
We kept asking, “Has he gone to surgery yet?” The answer remained no, for 10 hours after his scheduled time. As they had been warned, emergency cases took priority.
Then we waited, wondering, “Has he come out yet? How did the surgery go?” Almost done, they are just waiting on the cardiologist to make the final check.
The cardiologist approved. The surgery barely took four hours and our little grandson went into the children’s ICU.
Checking with mom and dad each day, the children told tales of their day and heard that three-month-old Henry had moved from post-operative stay in the ICU to step-down care and then had had his first bottle since surgery.
Henry had a bottle of milk; Sophie and Sam had a hot dog roast with Grandpa.
“Marshmallows are dessert for hot dogs,” Grandpa confidently told them as he loaded up the toasting fork for another visit to the small fire.
Sophie said we needed to make pudding for dessert. Her mom had sent the pudding and vanilla wafers for banana pudding. I grabbed a couple of bananas and Sophie helped.
“Stir the pudding mix.” She splashed a bit over the side.
“Cut these bananas into pieces.” She studiously chopped her way through three or four bananas.
“Pound these cookies into crumbs.” Sophie banged the wooden mallet, then sprinkled the crumbs on top of the pudding.
Sam offered to help when we made chocolate chip cookies. I had him stir the sugar and shortening. “Is it done, yet?” he asked, wanting to lick the spoon.
“No, not yet.” I added the eggs.
He stirred. “Is it done yet?”
“No.” I added vanilla. “Is it done yet, Sam?”
“No. He did not ask again, but waited while I added flour and baking soda. Once I pronounced, “It’s ready, Sam,” he grinned and grabbed the mixer and the spoon.
He did not mention them when he talked to his mother. To her he said, “Grandma said only one cookie.”
About the time Henry moved down to recovery, we moved Sam and Sophie to visit their cousins and Aunt Sharon and Uncle Jacob. Before you know it, Sam will be asking, “Are we home yet?” and life in Arkansas will be much quieter.