I good (#387)

As a result of standing around by the deck in damp weather conditions while waiting to ride his bike yesterday, Charlie woke up smiling (“yallow school bus!”) and scratching ferociously at the mosquito bites on his legs. I handed him a big green squishy ball as he boarded the bus, in the fleeting hope that it would keep his hands busy (and away from his legs), kicked myself for not spraying him with insect repellent (or for cutting his fingernails shorter—he will let me do it, but one finger or toe at a time), and emailed his teacher: “Charlie may be bothered by those bug bites!”
When Charlie got off the bus at 1.15.pm, he was again smiling and I didn’t see him reach to scratch his legs all day.

Grandpa was reading the newspaper over mint-chip ice cream and the nurse, who is from Ghana, was frying plantains (not for Grandpa). Charlie ran to see what was on the stove: tomato paste, anchovies, beans. He ran off to lie stomach-down on the couch and kick around the pillows, and then back to the kitchen, where he poked at a plate of plantain slices the nurse had set out for him.

“For you, Charlie,” she smiled, slicing a red onion with quick strokes. I thought of how my grandmother, Ngin-Ngin, used to wield a knife with similar ease as Charlie opened both the doors of Grandpa’s new, gleaming, black refrigerator and—like the critters in Over the Hedge—stared at the contents. (Let’s just say, I’m a California-bred, Asian American vegetarian, and my in-laws have more of a 1960s, packaged product, condiment-heavy–A-1 Steak Sauce, ketchup—vegetables-come-in-boxes-and-frozen, Wonder Bread, diet.) Charlie prodded a pack of frozen ground beef: “Burger.” I found a non-frozen pack and fried him up two, which Charlie ate sitting opposite Grandpa.

“He eats fast,” said Grandpa.

Charlie had more of a regular afternoon than yesterday with its disruptions: He did an ABA session (besides his academic programs, we have been working on coping skills like waiting and tolerance) and then went swimming at the pool. Before his usual “hot showah,” I asked Charlie to take out the garbage—garbage being a word which used to be over-loaded with meaning for Charlie, who knew that some of his old toys had disappeared into that mysterious entity.

Tonight, Charlie said “Take out da garbage!” with a smile, grabbed the bag and ran to dump it, saying “I good!”

I rather think that is an understatement.

3 Responses to “I good (#387)”
  1. I just love hearing about his days and when he talks so well. He is truly a “good” helper and you are blessed. Glad today wasn’t as stormy.

  2. Mamaroo says:

    Charlie and the rest of you really seem to have adjusted so well to all the changes in your lives. That is wonderful how he helps with the garbage.

    The mosquitos love Roo too and I always kick myself for forgetting to spray repellant on him.

  3. Those mosquitoes! You’d think I would remember after all these years.

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