Beckett is our third little wonderkin. As is his place in the birth order, in the recent past, he tends to be relinquished to third place in family accounts behind his zany, movin’ and grovin’ big bro Rhys (3 yrs) and his astute, sensitive, big, big bro, Kelly (5 yrs). Rhys and Kelly, being more verbal and physically developed, tend to steal the show.
Beckett, now 2 1/2 years old, has started to assert himself in a new-fangled way in the pecking order. I’m not saying Beck has always been plain vanilla, cherubic baby bliss. No, he’s always been a notable, feisty little beast of a baby and toddler. I think, always trying to stay even with his two big bros, he is at the age in his development where he can fight (sometimes in the literal meaning!) to level ground and keep pace with 1 and 2. His chubby baby knees have vanished and I’ve noted his elongating, strong, slender legs. His garbled baby talk has transformed into meaningful, staccato phrases and sentences, in English and Spanish, thanks to our team of nannies. Noting what his young brothers can and can’t do, Beckett often proclaims, when I reach to help him with a jacket or remove his trainer pull-up diaps (Kelly was in diaps beyond his 4th birthday and Beck surely will not), “I do it! I do it!”
Here’s a story about a great day I shared with Beckett and #2 that made me think differently about my littlest boy – he’s not Baby Beckett any more. He’s growing up.
Earlier this month, on a Saturday, Catherine planned to take Kelly to visit dear friends who had just sprouted a baby boy of their own. So, it was what I like to call a “Daddy Adventure Day” for me and the two littles. After Cath slipped out with Kelly around 9 am, I waited for the morning air to warm a pinch, (it was in the mid 30’s but the forecast said a high of 43). Then, I set to work bundling up the boys - you try putting mittens on a two-year old screaming, “I doooo it!” After the boys were finally properly bundled, I loaded Beckett and Rhys into the Burley, in walking mode, not biker, these days, and headed for the playground at Washington Park. After our 15-minute walk on a cool, sunny, and brilliant, Colorado Saturday morning, the boys had barley peeped, we were striding toward the park playground. I, wanting to peak their excitement about the coming activities, exclaimed, “Look boys! Look! There’s the playground!” Rhys, I swear, in a flat, non-whiny voice, replied, “I don’t want to go to that playground.” All right, mister, we’ll keep going to the Platt Park playground, another 15-20 minute walk. I like long, therapeutic walks these days. So, on we pushed.
The boys where way more active on this leg of the walk, and were even enjoying each others close company, as is not always the case, playing a barking game. Yes, they were taking turns barking and howling like dogs and then cackling and laughing there heads off for half the journey to park #2. Two blocks away from the park the tone in the Burley turned to hostile. A familiar Yes! No! battle erupted, who knows why and I’m not sure they knew after 30 seconds. Rhys hunkered down on the Yes! side of the lines and Beckett commanded the No! army – always the case. I tried to change the subject, “We’re almost to the playground! Errr, look there’s a pick up truck” and walked as fast as I could.
We unloaded at Platt Park and the mood changed back to the positive side of the meter. They took on the slide, grinning. We spun on endlessly on the merry go round, “Faster daddy!” Then, Rhys led them to the three spring loaded, ride-em cowboy toys, a worn out old medal tiger, a dinosaur and a newer bike. As Rhys bucked back and forth, giving each toy an initial whooping whirl, Beckett watched from the sidelines holding my right hand. Rhys jumped off the bike, the last toy in line, walked over to Beck and took him by the hand and said sweetly, leading him to the orange tiger with a paint pealed silver back, “Ride this one.” He then assisted his little bro with the mount, lifting Beck’s almost-too-short front leg over the top of the beast and then he just shoved Beck, both hands, on to the tiger’s back. I was smiling watching this harmonious performance. The boys rotated tiger, dino, bike, forever, having a bare back riding ball.
Swing action was next. After every push, Beckett urged me on, “Higher. Higher daddy.” I pushed them until my arm got tired and, then, with the time creeping past 10:30 am, I ordered, “Let’s load up and go grab hot coco boys!” The boys squealed something and jumped in the Burley without being asked. We walked to get our hot chocolate fix and a giant blueberry muffin to share at the Pajama Baking Co. on South Pearl. The boys were famished from their playground antics and the hot chocolate and muffin vanished in minutes. I grabbed the Burly as the two boys walked just ahead of me down this old school, two-block long retail district. After a half a block, Rhys asked to get in the Burley. As I fiddled with the seat straps, I asked Beck if he wanted in. “No. Not yet.”
“All right buddy. Just let me know.”
Two blocks later the retail zone switched to resident rows of old bungalows and I asked Beck if he wanted to climb in. “No. Not yet.”
At each intersection, I’d wait for the little man, walking slightly on his tip toes in his tiny powder blue Sorel boots, and hold his hand as we crossed the street, pushing the Burley with my left. We reached the corner of Louisiana and Pearl, a busy intersection, but a four way stop, still safe, near the highway. I asked again if little B wanted to load in. “No. Not yet.”
We navigated the two road crossings at this intersection and pushed on across the I-25 bridge, crossing two more three and two lane highway access roads with crossing lights with our pedestrian three wheeled, three-man assembly. After crossing I-25, a little hill would slow Beckett and surely coax him into the trailer, I mused. I asked again, if he wanted in. “No. Not yet.”
Beckett took his time, but, with me smirking and shaking my head in disbelief, Beckett crested the hill and we shuffled, hand in hand, across Downing Street, the entrance to Washington Park. At this point, Beckett had covered almost one mile on foot and his big brother had walked 60 feet, maybe. It was about 11 am by now and I was thinking about brunch at The Local, a great diner on South Gaylord with a long inventive kid’s menu. I figured it was a ten-minute daddy walk from there, with Beckett 20, 25 minutes.
Beckett was looking tired, as we strolled, slowly, very slowly though Wash Park, busy with joggers, bikers, kid tooting parents, like me, and walkers, like Beckett. He seemed to enjoy the company of other walkers, looking up and smiling at a grand ma and grand pa type. Grand ma beamed back and continued on in the other direction.
As we turn on to Mississippi, exiting the park and entering the surrounding neighborhood, I turned back to look for Beckett. He’s stopped behind me, squatting. He looked like he was taking a dump to me. Crap, his walk is done, I though. I walked back, felt for a poop and asked if he had a situation in his pants. “No poop,” he correctly informed me. I asked again if he wants to load up with Rhys. “No. Not yet.”
“Alright buddy. Great job walking and following directions, holding hands crossing the streets.”
We continued up Mississippi toward our brunch stop and a minute later Rhys says, “Poop daddy. Poop.”
“Alright buddy but we have to wait until we make it to the restaurant.” There is always poop, at some point, with our boys, well and me too. Well, you know what I mean. Anyway, it’s a five block walk to The Local and Rhys has just informed me he has shit his pants and, oh by the way Daddy, “I want to walk now!”
“You want to walk?” Shit, now I’m supervising a two and three year old, smack in the middle of a long walk, even for me, and I’m pushing a huge, unwieldy trailer. This is going to be fun!
I keep a cool, cucumber brain with the boys, mostly, but I have it admit I was starting to panic, just slightly but the rest of the walk actually turned out to be a blast. The boys teamed up and we all pushed the Burley up Mississippi with only a few minor scuffles between #2 and #3 over control of the vehicle and there was lots of giggling,
We walked into a packed The Local and headed to the small washroom to take care of Rhys’ poop – nice, one empty table near the back in this seat your self joint. When we reemerged, poop free, from the men’s room our table was gone. The Local was jammed to capacity, so we moved up the street to Max’s, a seafood place with more standard kids grub. We ordered pizza for my two little troopers. Beckett eats like a snake. Every few days he’ll eat a solid meal but most days he just nibbles or declines to consume even a bite. I assumed he would make a healthy dent in his personal size round pie - not a bite, just milk.
Both boys climbed in the Burley after lunch and we moved at a good clip to Daddy Adventure Day Stop #4: Bonnie Brae Ice Cream. Beckett ate every bite of his “Itty Bitty” scoop of peppermint and Rhys enjoyed his scoop of strawberry in half the time. We loaded up in the Burley, once again, and headed toward home. Rhys, likely hearing daddy’s ample praise for his walking bro, was chirping about wanting to walk, but with two difficult major road crossings, I wasn’t hearing him. When I pushed them to the home side of Bonnie Brae Blvd., I relented to Rhys’ barking after a block and let the boys spring the coop, once again. After 20 feet on foot, Rhys threw a fit and jumped back in. Who knows why? Beckett, of course, shuffled on and finished the last three blocks of our Adventure Day on foot. Google maps says it’s 1.6 miles between the PJ Baking Co, where he started to hoof it, and The Local. The last little bit up Bonnie Brea Blvd and home is another 0.3 miles. Beckett marched nearly 2 miles on foot that day and made me understand, rightly, that Baby Beckett was gone. He made me recognize a resilient and independent minded boy ready to take on the challenges of Daddy Adventure Days and life as a third, not so little, brother, has replaced our little baby.
Beckett you are a hardy, remarkable young man. I look forward to each exalted day watching you grow from an astounding treasure of a boy into the talented, compassionate man you will unquestionably become.
PJ Baking to The Local Google Map
