for Griffin

Yesterday was a first: Gracyn passed on coming over to my house. She passed–politely but decisively! She was packing her bag for a sleepover with her cousin and had her sites fixed firmly on this upcoming event.

But not to worry: in my sanctuary of double-delight, there’s Griffin, age three, who never passes. Because coming to my house is tantamount to visiting Disney Land. Because coming to my house involves creating a motor village that stretches the length and width of the dining room. Because coming to my house involves Tootsie Pops that you can throw away after two licks if you find you don’t really fancy that flavor today. Because coming to my house involves sacred one-on-one time that grandmas who have retired from teaching can freely give.

I have to admit that when Griff wanted to play doll house with the Fisher Price and Dora the Explorer families, I thought, Well, o.k., this is familiar territory. Gracyn and I have had a countless rounds of doll house narratives. I’m good to go. Only I was not. Not really, that is. When Griff picked up Dora’s magic mirror and proceeded to use it as a laser gun to pick off Dora’s grandma (why does the grandma have to go first???) and several of the girls, I knew I was going to have to get with the new story, or all of my people would be summarily wiped out.

I tried a climatic turn: Let’s say the naughty guy with the laser gun is really our friend. . . One more girl got zapped. I mean, he’s really not a bad guy–just a lonely guy. . . The father got zapped, then zapped again to make sure he was truly down. In a desperate attempt to turn the story, I tried again: Hey, do you want to come to our picnic? Zap, zap, zap. At this point, I’m out of people, and the only guy standing is the one with the magic mirror-turned laser.

Quickly I determined that the sanctuary of double-delight would require a new perspective, a definitely more male perspective. We turned to trains, trucks and cars, and the result: crashes, spectacular crashes with even more spectacular sound effects. Which Griffin has perfected after hours of play. The boy can make a motor sound, lips perpetually buzzing, for up to thirty minutes without taking a breath, I swear!

Read books, Nanny? Griffin opened the book cabinet and brought a handful of his favorites to the couch. Hallelujah, I know how to do this. And it’s a resting activity (vs. the aerobic doll house/motor vehicle activities)!  In the sanctuary of double-delight, you must be prepared for new perspectives and new play-taking risks. But, blessedly, you must also be prepared for the same all-encompassing joy to spread through you when your grandson presses himself against your side, his small hand resting on your forearm, guiding you as you turn the pages, his breathing slower now as his eyes take in each object on each page. Then he says, Oh no! He’s sad, Nanny. The dog wants to go with them. And you know, beyond a shadow of a doubt, that in spite of his recent three-year male bravado, he shares his sister’s sensitivity and keen insights. Griffin sees with his eyes and with his heart.

Double-delight, via Griffin, comes with laughter of the Glorious (capital G) sort.

Griff can go from contemplative to raucous, belly-shaking, contagious laughter in a split second. The boy can really laugh. In the sanctuary of double-delight, laughter of this magnitude is always welcome.

And just in case you need more than visual proof, check out this video of Griffin in the throes of laughter. Viewer discretion advised: Be prepared to split a gut–or at least crack a big smile.

https://www.facebook.com/100005494067014/videos/vb.100005494067014/390420977817701/?type=2

And genuine double-delight? When your granddaughter cannot help but join in, laughing at her brother and validating a moment of simple joy.

Just when you think you cannot take any more delight, Griff walks into our house, announces I’m here, Nanny! sits on the bottom step to take off his shoes, and marches right to the candy bowl to pluck a handful of Tootsie Rolls, and plops himself on the couch. I look outside to see his motorized John Deere tractor parked by the front porch.

Griff, does your mommy know you’re here? Chewing, chocolate oozing from the corners of his mouth, he bares his brown teeth and says, I really love you, Nanny. In the sanctuary of double-delight, verbal deflection of this kind is not only excusable, it is encouraged.

Because I plan to be a life-time member of this sanctuary, I can see that I’m going to have to do all that’s in my power to literally keep up with Griffin. I have a plan, though: the next time we play doll house, I’m calling dibs on the magic mirror/laser gun.

Watch out, Griff–you have met your match!