Damn Swede

My friends Greg and Marian sometimes watch their grandchildren overnight; Ashley who is five and Jimmy who is eight months.  On these weekends, they rush into church (usually a few minutes late) with all the gear children seem to require nowadays, looking for an open spot to set up camp.

During the first visit, Mirian introduced me to Ashley as her friend.  “Can you say hi to Carrie?” she asked.  Ashley locked eyes with me.  “I am watching you.” she said, complete with two fingered hand gesture first pointed at her eyes and then mine.

This Sunday was another visit.  Greg and Mirian made it just in time for the Homily because Baby Jimmy decided it was time to eat right when they were getting ready to leave; despite their many efforts to convince him to eat earlier.  They set up camp in the back by the choir, so Mirian could still give stern looks about appropriate church behavior from the music stand.  During the announcements, Greg admitted that Baby Jimmy, who had fallen asleep close to a half hour earlier, was getting too heavy for him.  “Well, then just give him to Carrie,” Mirian instructed and I took the sleeping baby into my arms and up to venerate the cross.  Walking back to the pews, I sat to gather up my belongings before heading to coffee hour.  It was as this moment that Ashley realized I was holding her younger brother.  Marching up to me, she again locked my eyes.  “That is OUR baby!” she exclaimed.  Laughing, I explained that her grandpa’s arms were tired and I was just helping out.  “But still, THAT IS OUR BABY!” she countered, even more insistant this time.  ” I am not going to steal him,” I reply, “I am just holding him for now.”  With this explanation, she was satisfied.