Esther, John Ben, and Misha have been gone for a few weeks. I keep waiting for the big feelings to hit, but even when I moved my furniture around for the baklava party and found a tell-tale chicken nugget and toy car, no tears welled up in my eyes. I smiled at the evidence of a toddler living here, which had been missed in the great post-visit clean-up. I pictured Esther sitting in her usual seat with her laptop or a book, pondering philosophical propositions while Misha roamed at her feet. I saw John Ben sitting across from her, discussing deep truths. It was good to have them at the house last spring and over the summer, but I’m happy for them now too.
John Ben is working on his PhD in theology. Esther is working as an adjunct professor while still writing papers and attending and speaking at philosophical conferences. They are living at the home of a lovely older couple with clean drinking water, as opposed to their last house in Steubenville, Ohio with brown, toxic tap water. Esther is pregnant with baby number two, and I hope to fly out to Ohio next spring to be with them. They are living the dream, and it won’t be long till we see each other at Christmas.
Before they left for the trip, Misha was learning American Sign Language to say “more.” Instead of putting the pinchy fingers of both hands together, he hit his open palm with his fist. It was hilarious when he came upon Esther eating a snack and stood looking at her, making such a threatening motion.
I especially love the story of the morning Esther and John Ben brought him into their big bed for morning snuggles.
Misha turned to John Ben, gave him a fist bump, and said, “Dada!”
Then he turned to Esther, kissed her cheeks, and said, “Mama.”
Finally, he leaned back on the pillows, made the sign for more, and said, “Nana, Nana.”
It gives me a happy heart to think that little Misha associates me with food. We used to hang out together in the mornings. After he went over to the dishwashers and switched the dirty signs to clean and back again to randomized my day, I’d strap him in his highchair from which he watched me with rapt attention, while I made his hot cereal and fruit.
When it was ready, I’d come over to him with the bowl and spoon, put his plastic bib around his neck, and make the sign of the cross, saying, “In the name of the Father and the Son and the Holy Spirit, Amen.”
He’d say, “Mmmmen!”
When he was finished and I had cleaned his face and his highchair and tray and dishes, we often went into the courtyard where I would sit and read while he grabbed sticks and stones and went on toddler missions.
Sometime on the trip through Texas and onto Ohio, Misha learned how to make the proper sign for “more.” Esther said that he wandered up and down the gas station aisles, looking at all the shelves filled with snacks, putting his hands together to ask for one goody after another. It turns out that the world is full of good things to eat.
Since he’s left, Misha learned to say, “Hi!” He often puts his hand up to the side of his face, holding an imaginary phone up to his ear, and says, “Hi!” before turning away to babble in privacy.
The other night when Misha was already in his sleep sack, John Ben lay down beside him and was playing with him before bedtime. Misha struggled to standing, gave John Ben a pat on his shoulder, said, “night-night” and waddled over to the door, which he couldn’t open. It was a good attempt at tucking his Dada in for the night.
Along with “Mama, Dada, Nana, hi, amen, and night-night,” Misha can now also say, “shoe, kitty, icon, and no.” He saw his first cat and adored it. Amazon sent him a stuffed kitty that he snuggles with all day. He also loves to kiss icons. Ten words at his age means that my darling, highly intelligent grandson is way ahead verbally. I’m so proud of him!
We’ve had a couple of video chats since they’ve been gone, and Misha always says, “Nana, Nana,” when he sees me. With such reminders, I feel sure that he will remember me when we next see each other. My grandma was always a familiar figure, even when we saw her only one week each summer. It’s what I grew up with. We didn’t have video chats, and phone calls were prohibitively expensive.
I’m looking forward to having a full house again soon. I look forward to hanging out with Esther and John Ben, and picking that sweet little boy up in my arms, giving him all the hugs and kisses. In the meantime, I’m content with sending the occasional gift and seeing Misha’s face on the phone. Every text is a treasure. Every picture is perfect. Every phone call is precious. And while the months pass till we meet again, I won’t deny the enjoyment of taking the child-proof locks off the cupboards, seeing carpets empty of toys and blocks, and using coffee tables cleared of clutter and cups. Life is good.
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