Peanut Butter

This weekend I had a variety of man things to do. The types of things that cause testosterone to pump wildly through your body, convince you not to shave and make you chase squirrels through the back yard with the misguided impression that they will allow you to catch them and grill them. I have squirrel scratches and ended up eating falafel.

But that’s beside the point. For every single job I had to do this weekend, I had an assistant named Gertrude. It started on Sunday morning as I was repairing a portion of a bed frame. I had to drill some new holes for screws to secure the post as well as drizzling some very sticky wood glue. As I sat there drilling my new holes, Gertrude sat by my side holding the screws. When I needed a new screw, she gently handed one to me.

As I was drizzling the glue into the appropriate spot she asked, “Wazzat?”

“Glue,” I said.

“Glue,” she responded.

I got out the drill and had to drill more holes.

“Loud,” she said, holding her ears.

“Yes it is honey.”

After everything was in place, I grabbed the first C clamp and started screwing it into place. Gert stood by holding the second C clamp. When I was done setting the first she handed me the clamp and said, “Here daddy.”

“Thank you honey,” I said. And we took everything outside to dry.

Later in the day I asked her to come with me to check on its progress. She immediately ran to the plank and started removing the C clamps.

“No,” I said, “not yet. The glue needs a long time to dry and set properly.”

“Okay daddy,” she said.

I told her we were going to go inside to assemble some book shelves. She trotted along behind me singing the very first song she’s ever written. It went something like this:

“Peanut Butttttta. Peanut Butttttta. Peanut Buttttta.” She sang. I laughed. She sang more.

I’ve purchased her a car. Her cuteness overwhelmed me.

I went and got the materials to assemble the book shelves and Gertrude came running into the room carrying her plastic tool kit. She got out her hammer.

I worked and got the shelves put together. Though I was told I would not need a hammer, one piece needed a stronger force than my thumb to be put into its slot. I asked my wife for a hammer.

“Here Daddy,” Gertrude said, handing me her plastic hammer.

“Thank you sweetie,” I said.

“You’re welcome.”

So polite when she’s not filling her diaper with nefarious bodily expectorations that send a lightning bold of fear through me.

With our projects complete, we went outside to play. We took a wagon ride around the back yard, complete with tour-style narration.

“And to your right you will see weeds I have not pulled. Just ahead are the tree shoots the previous owners let grow in the corner of the yard. You will notice that I have not pulled them myself because I don’t want to see our neighbor doing her dishes in her underwear. Next spring we will plant a bush.”

We laughed.

Then we got out the hose. I taught her how to pull the trigger and she spent the next hour spraying water all over our parched lawn and bushes. Apparently I looked a little parched myself because she shot a stream of cold water right at my ass.

“Soddy Daddy,” she said.

“That’s okay sweetie. Just point it at the lawn,” I said.

Later that night I gave her some soda. A major treat. She stood in the kitchen, drinking it out of her big girl cup reciting, “Sada! Sada!” And she grimaced as the bubbles hit the back of her throat. She cried for more.

Eventually it was time for bed. I gave her a hug and kiss and thanked her for a wonderful day. I handed her a cup of milk and she said “Thank you” in her sing songy way and climbed on mommy’s lap for a bedtime story.

Later, after everyone was settled in their beds and I was watching TV I heard a quiet voice down the hall sing:

“Peanut Butttta! Peanut Butttta! Peanut Butttta!”

I laughed loudly. The voice stopped and I heard a rustle of sheets and bed clothes. Then a little sigh came out as her breathing regulated into that of a deep sleep.

And then I sighed.

When I was young I just wanted to be a rock star. I wanted hordes of screaming girls to come and watch me singing.

Times have changed. I’m not a rock star. But I have two girl followers. And that’s even better.

I’m a dad. And I like my job.

Discuss