An Overnight with Eleanor

Casey and PJ have gone to a show in New Haven to celebrate Casey’s birthday, and Eleanor is spending the night with us. It has been mild lately, and the paths in the yard are spongy and green with moss. For Eleanor, that mossy carpet is both invitation and inspiration. “Let’s build a family home!” she cries as she scurries about, brushing through brambles at the border of the woods searching for materials. 

At her command, Dave and I drag over stumps and sawn logs and arrange them under the magnolia’s sheltering boughs. With these as table and chairs, Eleanor, now our self-proclaimed mother, begins to prepare “hazelnut soup.” 

I am sent off to forage.

Mild as it is, I‘m chilly and don’t want to stay out for long, but to my surprise, I take pleasure in the hunt for potential ingredients. Few plants are growing, but I find textured acorn caps and sprigs of pale onion grass. Winter-dry shrubs and spent plants offer empty seed pods. Brittle leaves crushed between my fingers make a fine powder perfect to season Eleanor’s soup. I’d been deceived by the March-gray nakedness, for there is bounty hidden in the litter of dead leaves.

While I’ve been assigned the role of good daughter out “shopping” for Mom, Dave has proven talented as the bad kid, dubbed  “Williams” a while back by this demanding six-year-old mother. The name, so butler-esque, cracks us up, and we wonder how she thought of it. When Dave acts out, as he always does, Eleanor bellows “WILLIAMS!” her tone imperious and not to be defied. Although, of course, he does.

The first time Dave played Williams, he rolled up his shirt sleeves, his expression surly, eyes slitted, and shoulders slouched. He leaned against a door jamb in the living room and pretended to smoke a cigarette. Eleanor looked to me, confused, and asked, “What is he doing?” I loved her innocence: she had no idea what smoking was. 

Back at our woodland home, Eleanor has grown ambitious. She points to logs as long as I am tall and asks us to haul them to the magnolia to make walls. Not going to happen. And it’s about time to head inside anyway.  

*   

When my kids were little, an outdoors excursion or sojourn at the library was followed by cozy time with a pile of books. The Brambly Hedge series, Karen Gundersheimer’s Happy Winter, and anything by Steven Kellogg would keep Tucker and Casey content to sit and snuggle. If compelled, Eleanor will settle in for one book only, and then she is off to some imaginative play, be it hotel, grocery store, or veterinarian. She takes the lead as receptionist or cashier, efficient and welcoming. I strive to be an enthusiastic patient or pet owner, but given my druthers, would prefer to take a seat with Kellogg’s Island of the Skog.  

Beyond boundless energy, Eleanor holds within her a well of joy, ever ready to spill. While preparing to demonstrate her greatly improved cartwheels – for we are now doing gymnastics in the living room - she dances in place, jumping with excitement and pride. “Are you ready? Watch.”

If her knees are bent or she stumbles in landing, she says, “That wasn’t good. Wait.” She shakes it off. Flips her hair back. Takes a deep breath. “Okay. Now. Watch this one.” She continues practicing until her legs are straight and she can stick the landing. She ends with a flourish of graceful hands and clamors for video documentation so she can review her performance.  

*

Soon, PJ and Casey will arrive for a birthday brunch, and Eleanor is sprawled on the floor making her dad’s place card. She has written “PJ” in bold capital letters and decorated the card with a purple border. 

“You know what?” I say. “We can cut the card out with a flap at the top and bend it over like a tent.”

Her green eyes widen, eyebrows arched high. “So it will stand up!” she exclaims. She sits back on her knees, claps her hands, and bounces with glee. 

Oh! It is a gift to share in the delight she takes in the simplest discovery. Even while brushing her teeth this morning, she eyed the blue toothpaste gel and remarked, “Look! Sparkles in the paste! I love that!” 

We gather up her place cards, now tented, and set the table. I’ve purchased paper napkins, pale green with soft pink accents, and Eleanor carefully tucks one next to every plate. I’ve decided to use my mom’s china which I rarely do because I’m afraid to run it through the dishwasher, but Casey loves it which makes me happy; hopefully she’ll want the set when the time comes. Dave has purchased a pot of daffodils and that serves as the centerpiece. 

When Casey and PJ arrive, Eleanor flies outside to greet them, but has no time for hugs. She simply cannot wait. She grabs her mom’s hand and tugs her into the dining room and stands aside, so proud of it all, so thrilled in anticipating her mom’s happiness. 

Casey scoops her up, wraps her close, and nuzzles her cheek. Eleanor giggles, feigns fighting her off, and then smothers her with kisses.

How it fills my heart to see my little girl, now 42 (!) loving her Eleanor so.