Hurricane Jackson John

Having raised two children – okay the wife did the heavy lifting, I thought I was prepared to care for my grandson, Jackson John Sterling. I was not close.

I learned on my first babysitting day I need all my energies to keep up with him. If I glance away for the smallest moment – say to take a sip of tea – he bolts across the room and toward baby danger zones.

Yesterday Lyn and I took him to a public swimming pool. Was he satisfied to frolic in the baby area? No, he relentlessly kept heading toward the deeper regions. At the water jet area, he enjoyed smacking down the tiny spray created just prior to the water cannon burst designed to knock tykes backwards. My grip on his shirt and shorts left him horizontal in an effort to avoid water-styled shock and awe.

Jack will act up when anyone leaves a room. I think he takes it personally. He must be asking himself why that person doesn’t want to dote on me? On Monday, it took me nearly 30 minutes to make a sandwich. He’d storm into the kitchen to the shout of “baby alert” and come right to where I was. He’d open and then empty the cabinets. Any time spent on the sandwich meant more destruction at my feet.

He also has a “don’t tell me what I can’t play with” attitude. I can dump 100 toys on my living room floor and hold back just one. He’ll low crawl through through the resting toys and swipe at the one I’m withholding.

And what does he do when he can’t get what he wants? He wails, and his baby-sized lower lip quivers at a high rate.

Yes, it does reduce a Papa John to a mushy puddle.


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