Last week, I talked about a visit to 15-month-old grandson Adam at his daycare center where his mother works in a large nursing home/retirement center in West Seattle.  On the afternoon of this particular visit, it took me a while to get Adam collected from the baby room and into his stroller…

Finally, I wheeled Adam into the elevator.  My destination? The sunny flower-filled patio with tables, umbrellas and chairs and pleasant people sitting about. 

I parked him next to a chair at an umbrella-shaded table and sat down to rummage in my purse for his snacks, having been instructed he would miss snack time if I took him out of the room, so I would need to provide something.

Adam thoughtfully ate his blueberries, one by one, tried some cantaloupe bits, nibbled on three Cheerios and lost interest. We realized at the same instant that I had forgotten to bring his sippy cup and water.  Not good.

The baby room routine includes a drink with food.  Oh, well. We soldiered on.

The thing is, the last time I took Adam outside at the facility, he was just beginning to toddle.

Did I think he still would stumble about, looking cute and harmless, grinning at the people sunning themselves or working in their colorful raised garden plots? Or did I simply not think at all?

I laboriously removed him from his stroller, set his little feet on the ground—and he ran.  He ran instantly. He ran very fast. I cannot tell you how suddenly he simply took off. 

His first choice?  He sped across the aggregate patio, turning abruptly to race down the concrete wheelchair ramp leading to the sidewalk and the street.

Several people not that much older than I am awakened as we dashed past their wheelchairs. One lady smiled and called after me, “Grandma, I don’t think you can keep up with him.”  She knew!
 
Adam, heedless of my voice, hurtled toward the curb—little bare knees exposed to almost certain catastrophe. Just in time, I swept him up in my arms.  He giggled.

Time to go indoors!  He agreeably took my hand, and we entered the dining room, where a spirited game of seated volleyball was going on, featuring a huge red balloon. 

The activities director saw my grandson and called out to him, “Hey, Adam!  Want to hit the balloon?” 

Well, yes, he did.  Arms up, he ran toward the balloon, whacking it over the net, to laughter and applause. He and the director exchanged high fives (yes, they did) and we went on our way.

After more visiting with most everyone we encountered, Adam and I checked in on his mom, then returned to the daycare center, in time for 2:30 outdoor playtime. 

Outside, Adam dashed to the big plastic trucks. But when I turned to leave, he caught my eye and ran back across the playground to me, smiling, arms outstretched. 

Perfect good-bye.