Her skin has a soft tone. Cream-like. Her eyes are but small azure marbles peering into the light of kvelling faces. Sometimes she cries, but mostly she lays sleeping, swaddled, and stunning — all as her older sister, (think: Jewish Shirley Temple), holds court. In all, the weekend was a wondrous introduction to Ms. Ruby Emma Bohrer.
The good thing about very newborns is that neither child nor mother are mobile. This isn’t good actually; it’s great! Our visit, therefore, was spent sitting in chat with the parents or standing in awe watching Lucy. All good.
It was restful, moreover — even for a road trip. With Ruby in cradle we ordered food in. No rushing to restaurants— no car seats, etc.
Lucy danced. Lucy counted. (She’s at 40 now). And Lucy sang.
Ruby slept. Ruby fed. Ruby burped.
No one cooked.
“What do you want to get, Jason”?
“I don’t care.”
“Carrie”?
“I don’t care.”
(Someone had to step up, so)…
“Anything but Greek”, I threw out there.
“I could eat sushi”, my Little One volunteered.
(Ed. Note 2: Sushi created no groundswell, but it did give rise to an interesting colloquy).
“Why do you and Stacy use chopsticks?” I asked Bonesy.
He hesitated a bit. Most do, when asked (and trust me, this is a question I often pose. Is not the concept of human beings dining with wood sticks centuries after the caveman’s use of rocks evolved to 21st century silverware rather counterintuitive?).
Then, after a pregnant pause, this strong, proud man, mustered:
“It’s fun.”
(Jason … Bones Boy! That’s the best you’ve got?).
“Well if it’s that much fun,” I leaped, “Why don’t you use them on other foods? Why not have fun more often?”
Yes, it was a time of warmth, unity and fluff against the backdrop of family matters. On Friday I read Lucy to bed. On Saturday she preferred her father. And on Sunday the seven of us (don’t forget Adam) went —GET THIS, STUART FENTON — on a hike!
—To the schoolyard we strode, with Luce on her trike…
—To the swings, and the teeter/totter…and …
—To the homestead again for batting practice.
(All as the baby slept).
On Sunday the clock struck twelve. Time to go it was — midst emotion and emoting… laugh, love and Lucy — it was time to leave…
— A time of inner angst —-
Kissing my daughter, and Lucy, and Jason, I bent over what they used to call a port-o-crib. Lord knows what they term it these days.
Kneeling, I kissed the ten-day old jewel.
Turning, I strode toward the door, when for some reason I STOPPED.
AND PIVOTED.
AND KNELT AGAIN.
…And then, in an impulse I’d never before felt, I pressed my forehead on the baby’s, and summoning my inner-Rabbi Cohen, whispered:
“May the Lord bless you and keep you. May the LORD make His face shine upon you and be gracious unto you. May the LORD be with you and grant you peace –”
Rising, I kissed Stacy again and walked to the car.
Minutes later we were on 94 heading south. Only then, the weekend in our rear view mirror, did I realize the weekend wasn’t really fluff.
It was family.
this is great except a walk to the schoolyard is not a hike — it’s simply a WALK
Very right-wing interpretation of “hike”, Alan.
just laughed. i will need a bit more explanation????
I figured the response sounded funny. Not even certain what it means.