Dancing Without Rhythm

But alas, I do not have small hands. I have my dad's hands. Yeah, there's a song about Daddy's Hands, but they aren't about a 6'8" man passing down the genetic blessing of massive hands to his daughter who only ever wanted to be petite.

My oldest sister has these beautiful, elegant, slender, lotion-model in a magazine hands. Jewelry begs to take up residence upon her fingers. Even if her nails aren't "done" her hands are beautiful.

When I try on rings, I shove them down as far as they'll go on my pinky finger and try to ignore the chub squishing up on either side of the band, pretend I have hands like my sister, and how will that 5 karat look THEN?

When J and I were engaged I muttered my ring size, shamefully across the counter to the ring-sizer person, hoping J wouldn't hear me. As if he hadn't seen my hands before...

I feel the same about my wrists, but I might be pushing it to write about magic wrists.

Today as I was driving down the tollway, Avee started squawking. Probably tired of being in the car. Or thirsty. That girl drinks water like nobody's business. Anyway, I reached back my hand, she latched on to my finger and was content. Nothing changed about her situation, it was still hot, boring, and probably even a little squishy in the diaper---but now she had my finger in her grasp.

Later I was walking into a store with Benja and while I was talking to an employee I saw Ben reach for something with his greasy sweet little hand. I "gently" snapped my fingers to get his attention without breaking conversation and then "discreetly" wagged my finger at him. It's the sign (as in sign language) he designated for "no-no" when he was 13 months old. It's absolutely precious when he does it, more utilitarian when I do it. But he gets the message.

Later Benja had a meltdown about cleaning up his train set. He gets overwhelmed and says, "it's too biiiiiiiiiiiiig" and doesn't even want to start. Sort of funny, but it gets old. I believe you have to let some meltdowns happen. It's just part of expressing how they feel. I certainly don't want anyone putting me in a time out or scolding me when I want to have a meltdown about going the the store specifically for B & Jer's Half Baked and it's NOT STOCKED.... And then there are other melt downs that don't get to happen. Benja's was one of the latter. I held up my forefinger and said warningly, "One...." The mad scramble and sudden sputtering of unfinished and made up words (Benja's version of cussing me out) that ensues makes me feel like the most powerful person hand in the world house.

Just so you know, I can't think of a time I have ever gotten to 3 with Benja. I don't think he even knows what happens at 3, but he ain't the fool who will bother finding out either. I'm not sure I know what happens at 3. And no, I'm not a "two and five eiiiiiiiiiighths...." kind of counter either.

I announced to Benja it was naptime. 2 seconds later he was in the furthest corner of our palatial mansion, under a chair that was under some clothes, that was under a suitcase, that was under some more clothes. He's never run like that before so when I laughed upon "finding" him, he decided to go with my jovial mood and suggested napping there for today. With only minimal resistance, I finally got him to bed. I layed down with him and after 2 minutes of the poorest rendition of Olympic Gymnastics on a Tempur Mattress he asked me to rub his back. He was asleep in 30 seconds. I'm not kidding. He could not resist the magic of these hands.

Later when I was on the phone with my sister, Avee wouldn't stop grabbing for the phone. I let her talk. I'm one of those annoying moms who makes whoever calls here talk to my kids. I don't get out much, I need cheap entertainment, and this fulfills many needs. I love listening to my mom meow and bark at the kids or my sister try to get them to say her name first or my friends say things that they just don't want to be saying on the phone to a 1 year old, "Did you go poo-poo today?!?" etc. For Avee, it's not about the conversation, it's about the control. She wants the phone because I need it. She wants the conversation to be about her, and holding the phone helps ensure that. She also likes to practice holding it on her shoulder with no hands. That skill is important to have when you are 16 months old. So, after fighting her off long enough that it was just annoying, I just started "tickle bugging" her. One little finger that creeps up slowly and then attacks. Phone? What phone? This is the funnest bestest game EVER! And my screeching, pinching, demanding, girl becomes a delightful, giggling little angel. All because of one hand that can take on the identity of Tickle Bug.

There are lots of things these hands can't do. But I'm pretty amazed by what they can.

I bet J would like it if they'd stop punching in the pin to my debit card and single-handedly insuring the independent wealth of Sam Walton's great-great-great-great grandchildren. But whatever, they aren't perfect hands.

Posted by Angela on Wednesday, July 26, 2006 at 7/26/2006 | Permalink