The Dear Daughter and the Corn Tiger are installed at the apartment down in the City and I am missing the gift of participating in their daily life. He can't quite ride the "scoot bike" I got him for his birthday, but he still likes to take it out. When they were here he would look through the glass panes in my front door before he was even dressed for the day.
He would call to his little wooden bike parked on the front porch, asking if it was still there. "Vroom Walk!"
He would hold the handles and walk it down the front steps from the porch, with me at his side saying, "Careful. One step. Now careful." Across the stepping stones in the front walk and right at the sidewalk. "Stop at the corner and wait for Nana. Look both ways. Anybody coming? Have to be careful of those big cars. OK. All clear. All business in the street." Once across, we'd turn right in front of the elementary school and he'd take off running beside Vroom. Those little hips wagging. Those little sneakers pit-patting on the sidewalk.
Vroom! The days slip past. And he's only 20 months at Christmas.