August 29, 2004 - A walk with Everett-
It's a special joy reserved only for the energetic, brave and nimble. Walks with Everett are marathon obstacle courses peppered with charm and wit.
Everett has reached the age where he is, in turns, stubborn and delightful. Today as we walked down the steps I asked him, "Everett, do you want to sit in the stroller?" He responded, "Yeah, sit in stroller mama." then paused. "Everett likes that!"
He kills me! I always ask him if he likes x, or y, but today he came up with it on his own. He climbs up into the stroller by himself, muttering "seebelt" and "safe" (from Dora: every time they get into a car or wagon or truck, she says, "Seatbelts! so we can be safe") and wiggling his little bottom to get into the seat firmly. "Everett fix it!" he says, adjusting the buckle by brute force.
We head down the sidewalk to the store, playing our special walk games. Everett tells me to "run, mama!" and I make a short burst of speed, or push the stroller hard so that he zooms ahead of me on the sidewalk. He giggles, and says "BOOM!" when we go over bumps or big curbs. If he sees a ramp or a short hill, he points emphatically, "mama, THAT way!" kicking his legs for emphasis.
When we're walking, he notices everything, half of which I can't even locate, myself. "Big truck!" "Mama, doggy! Foof Foof!" "Boo car, mama, right there!" The "right there!" thing is new, and entirely adorable. He's so immediate, so urgent - as if it's impossible, wonderful, brilliant that something should be "right there!" and I can't possibly live without seeing it for myself.
We arrive at the store, a treasure trove of good things. He wants oranges and apples (which are still, sometimes, interchangeable - when he was younger, "apple" was all fruit) and bananas, he wants juice, he is so excited. We sit at the coffee bar to drink and "read paper, mama, Everett's paper!" but he is distracted by things I didn't notice until he did - a metal train that must have once held something (toothpicks maybe?) behind a coffee pot, a little lion up on a high shelf. He asks me about the lion.
I tell him that the lion likes to sit up high, so it can look over the plain to find its prey. "Lion...see prey, mama?" he asks. Yep. That's as far as I'm going with that one. He eats his orange, sloppily, juice running everywhere, and won't let me put a napkin on his lap. Oh well, oranges are cleansing agents, aren't they? Power of citrus or something?
We walk home, and Everett must run, charging down the ramp near the Holgate House, recalling his "marks gehset go." He asks me, "blocks mama?" and I tell him to get into his blocks, he does the pose (we'll have to work on that back foot, that's decidedly crooked, but another time) charming me with his well-placed fingers. I say, "on your marks, get set" pause "Go!" and he is off, quickly, and wants to do it again and again.
He runs up driveways and walkways, fearlessly, petting cars (no, I'm serious, he pets the cars) "nice car, mama! Everett pet nice car," and knocking on doors. "Knock, oos there, anybodies?" he asks. I wince, hoping I'm not terrifying a random old lady who is, I'm sure, calling 911 because a stranger is knocking on her window.
He walks onto low walls, balancing, telling me that he's being "careful, mama, Everett careful." Especially when he almost falls, or does fall. "Whoa, mama, Everett be careful!" he reminds me. Thanks.
He never wants to stop, never wants to stop running and jumping and petting things. It's always hard to get him to get in the stroller, or on my shoulders, so we can navigate the dangerous sidewalk on the busy street. But I do, and we are back once again, happy and hot from our little walk.
