Words That Are Sometimes Words
“It’s only a lawn tractor but to her it is a huge and powerful machine that takes she and Grandma to all kinds of amazing places. ”
The Story Behind This Story
In 2018, our son and family moved in to stay with us for a while. His oldest daughter was only two at the time. She loved to be outside and a diaper was her wardrobe of choice was no shoes, no shirt, just a diaper. She and I created a tradition that I will always cherish - and here’s the story…
Dirt Farmer Maggie, March 2021
Words That Are Sometimes Words
The sun is slipping further down the horizon I have a few more chores I want to complete while there is still light. Then I see her. Her eyes twinkling with delight as her small frame runs towards me. “Ride, ride Mom!” she calls out, her rosey cheeks jarring as she bounds barefooted across the lawn on this summer night. “Tacko Mom…ride”. At first I think “not now, it’s almost dark and I have a few things left to do” and then I look into her hopeful face and her little hand reaches out as she comes to me at last. “Okay Kai, let’s go ride on the tractor,” I reply. “Tacko, Mom,” she says over and over as we approach the barn. Her tiny brown feet walking carefully over the weeds and straw. She almost never calls me Grandma. All women are Mom to her after just 27 months of living. We roll up the metal barn door and she peers, with wonderment, into the dark and shadowy barn. Then, she spots it. “Tacko Mom!” she proclaims as she runs and climbs aboard.
It’s only a lawn tractor but to her it is a huge and powerful machine that takes she and Grandma to all kinds of amazing places. We start it up. The engine is loud and echoing inside the metal building. The headlights come on and paint a bright splash of light against the shiny metal wall. We back up and start off – out the driveway onto our country lane to see what we can see as the sun is slipping closer to the horizon.
I can feel the weight of her body on my leg. My right arm is around her, my hand resting on her stomach while I steer with the left. She places her little hands lovingly on mine as we ride down the road in silence. We see horses – and rocks. We see a dog and a car on a distant road. Each object must be thoroughly discussed, with words that are sometimes words.
“This angel on my knee is a gift from God and I am so privileged to have these special moments to cherish long after she is grown, and Grandma isn’t a celebrity anymore.”
Every once in a while, I feel her looking up at me. She peers into my face as if to say, “Thanks for taking time – for making me more important than those last few chores”. It gets dark as we turn around. The headlights blaze a trail for us and all kinds of interesting bugs dance in their beam – only to flutter away into the darkness before she can touch them. On the last stretch, she is silent, occasionally rubbing her eyes and I can feel her body relax as she sinks in a little closer and lays her head against my chest. We are quiet. Only the roar of the engine fills the night. As I squeeze her to me and kiss her forehead, love, contentment and sheer joy spread over me like a warm blanket on a cool night. This angel on my knee is a gift from God and I am so privileged to have these special moments to cherish long after she is grown, and Grandma isn’t a celebrity anymore. But for now, I will gladly forfeit my plans to soak up her love and adoration any time I can.
The crickets and the dogs greet us as we pull into the driveway and back into the barn. Daddy is waiting in the yard for her. I carry her to the fence and she runs to him to tell him all about our great adventure, with words that are sometimes words. He swoops her up and they disappear into the house. As I stand there, I feel so full and so grateful for the chance to be her Grandma and for the anticipated pleasure of every future Tacko ride we will share.
