Lessons from Logan
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"Life is too important to take seriously." - Corky Siegel

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Welcome back Maria Harden, whose story below reflects the patience
and love of a grandmother!
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LESSONS FROM LOGAN

Logan had been gone a long time.

We had been playing hide and seek in the yard when he ran into the
house to use the bathroom.  I waited outside, and when he didn't
return, went looking for him.  To my dismay, there were muddy
footprints up the stairs and down the hall to the bathroom.  My
heart sank -- what a mess!  I silently rued the day when I had chosen
a light coloured carpet.  What was I thinking?  It was not one of my
better decisions.

I found Logan hiding in the spare bedroom. 

"Sweetie, what are you doing?" I asked.

"Grandma, I did something bad to your carpet," he said, eyes
downcast.

"Oh, Logan," I said, bending down to hug him, "don't worry!  It's
only a carpet."

He was clearly troubled.  "Grandma, give me a cloth, and I'll clean
it up."

My heart wrenched.  "Oh, that's okay, sweetie," I said.  "You know
what?  We'll just let it dry for a while, and then it will
vacuum right up."

Logan looked relieved.  He probably thought I'd be angry.  He was
just a little boy whose intent was to go to the bathroom, and not
thinking, ran in with his shoes on, wet and muddy from a recent rain.

"Don't tell Dad, okay, Grandma?  I made a mistake.  He'll be
disappointed."

I told him not to worry; everyone makes mistakes, and no one will be
disappointed, not even his Dad. Back outside, we went to our
favourite park at the end of the street.

Now that he was four years old, the "little kids" playground
equipment was by and large ignored.  The "big kids" swing held the
attraction, and he wanted to be on it all the time.

"Push me higher, Grandma!" Logan insisted.  "Higher!"

I pushed the swing higher. "Do 'one, two, buckle my shoe,' Grandma!"
he begged. I pushed him on the swing and began the rhyme, one line
for every push.

"One, two, I love you!" I improvised.

"No, Grandma! 'One, two, buckle my shoe!'"

"Oh, right!  One, two, buckle my shoe."  I continued.  "Three, four,
I heard you snore!"

"Grandma!  It's 'three, four, shut the door!'" he giggled,
stretching his legs out to the sky, trying to pump himself even
higher.

"Oh, I forgot!"  I pretended to think.  "Three, four, shut
the door.  Five, six, look at the chicks!"

"No, no, it's 'five, six, pick up sticks!'  Say it right!"  

"Okay, okay!  Five, six, pick up sticks.  Seven, eight, don't be
late!"  

"Grandma!"  

"Seven, eight, lay them straight.  Nine, ten, let's do it again!"

Logan gave up trying to convince me to say the rhyme correctly as he
was laughing too hard at my teasing. 

How I delighted watching him learn, and seeing his personality
develop.  I remembered the first time he played with a yo-yo; he
was not yet two years old.  He tried unsuccessfully to wind the
string around it, but did not have the dexterity.  Finally he
stretched the string out on the floor, and carefully rolled the yo-yo
onto the string.  Presto, problem solved.

He calls a jack-in-the-box, a dad-in-the-box, because his Dad's
name is Jack.  He is not at all shy, often conducting conversations
with complete strangers.  He invited the drug store clerk to his
birthday party.  When he saw a man wearing colourful Hawaiian garb,
he asked loudly, "Why is that man wearing pajamas?"  

Once we found a dead bird on the sidewalk, and he asked me what
happened to it.  I told him I didn't know, and he thought for a
moment and then stated, "Maybe an asteroid hit it!"  He is the type
of child who likes toys that he can do something with, rather than
the kind that do it for him.  He asks "how?" rather than "why?"

I stopped pushing the swing for a moment to sneeze and blow my
nose, having come down with a summer cold.  I said, "Logan, you gave
me your cold."

"No, I didn't, Grandma," he declared matter-of-factly.  "You got your
own cold!"

Later, back at home, I vacuumed up the dried mud, and the carpet
was no worse for wear.  No harm done, I thought, glad I didn't make a
big deal out of a little dirt.

When Jack came to pick up Logan and got him buckled in the car,
this precious boy, barely four years old, studied me intently, his
green eyes solemn.  I wondered what he was thinking.  Was he
memorizing my face for all eternity?  

Waiting for some profound statement, I got it when he said
seriously, "Grandma, you have a little bit of snot on your nose!"

Then, waving from the car, he called, "One, two, I love you!"

That's my boy!  

Maria Harden
mharden @ escape.ca
Copyright © 2002 by Maria Harden. All rights reserved.

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About the author:  Maria loves to write about her family,
particularly her grandson,as he provides continuous fodder for
stories.  She presently has the mostfulfilling job in the world, as
she is entrusted with Logan's carethree days a week.  The benefits
are excellent, as the pay is in hugsand kisses, and her
last "performance appraisal" from Logan said shewas the "best grandma
ever."  Maria lives in Winnipeg, Manitoba, withher husband and a 15
year old cat.
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HEARTWARMING HEADLINES

Folks, here's a special treat for you.  For a first-person view of my
great-grandmother, Hattie Brush Murray, through the eyes of her
granddaughter, Grace Rasmussen, check out her story on our website at
http://geocities.com/jenniferioliver2001/.And while you're there,
check out Grace's sweet book "Billie-Girl Gets Butterflies" at
http://geocities.com/jenniferioliver2001/publications.htm

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LOVE,JENNIFER I. OLIVER AND FAMILY
four_ears @ msn.com
"To live that in thy last long sleep, Smiles my be thine wile
allaround thee weep." - Nellie L. Wallace, June 24, 1873

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