I left work at 3:00 p.m. today feeling as though I needed a hot fudge Sundae.  I haven’t had one in several decades but it seemed like a good idea in the middle of a stressful day coming on the heels of a sleepless night.  I called my friend Paula, who shares custody of her grandson, and has him Sunday through Wednesday.  I’m in serious need of these people with their unabashedly loving ways, I thought.  I didn’t need to ask; Paula heard whatever lurked in my voice and immediately invited me to spend the afternoon with her and Chaska.

We joined with Paula’s niece Catherine, buckling Chaska in his booster seat in the backseat of my Saturn, and making our way to the Clock Tower Cafe in old Overland Park.  With Roasterie coffee, cupcakes and shortbread standing in for ice cream, we chatted about nothing in particular.  Chaska told us a long story about some game they played outside that  day at Pre-K.   Oh, you got to go outside after all, Paula exclaimed.  Yes, Nona, Chaska said, a bit impatiently.  It got to be over 41 degrees, and that’s the rule.  Five years old, our Chaska, but very wise.

Two hours melted into the setting sun to the west as the ladies dawdled and Chaska launched into a rousing game of I Spy with My Little Eye.  I repeatedly  lost due to Chaska’s proclivity to change the rules mid-round.  Not to mention, his Nona supported his dubious labeling of the brown ceiling as “something red”.

We gathered our debris, re-filled Paula’s water bottle, and made our way across Santa Fe Road, with Chaska walking heel-to-toe, slowly, having been placed in charge of Auntie Corinne’s new red phone.  A few minutes later, the ladies had settled into chairs by the play-yard at the Matt Ross Community Center while Chaska  commandeered the slide.  A few giggly girls  squealed and raced around the small enclosure.  Later, Paula timed Chaska while he tried to beat his personal record for running around the room. He did, too: 6.9 seconds, his fastest time yet.

On the way home, Chaska’s clear voice sounded from the back seat: Auntie Corinne, can I play Minion Rush on your tablet?  Another round of laughter — as though Auntie Corinne would say no to such a sweetly stated request.  Once a boy-mother, always a boy mother.  I handed the tablet to Paula, and Chaska showed her the icon.  In the rear view mirror, I saw their two dark heads angled together in the dark, over the screen, and heard Chaska’s periodic updates:  I’m on level two!  I’m on level four!  I won a trophy, Auntie Corinne!  Oh, my little one.  What joy to be around you!

I deposited the Kenyon-Vogt family in Paula and Sheldon’s driveway, and leaned down to get one last hug from Chaska.  He threw his arms around my neck and said, Thank you for coming, Auntie Corinne!  I drew a long sigh into my chest and let it escape in jagged tremors.  Not quite sobs; but close.  What healing power those Chaska hugs have!

And now I am home; and I’ve eaten a cup of tomato soup, and the day seems to have made its way to a peaceful, easy end.

Chaska James Vogt and Auntie Corinne, making a selfie, in Paula and Sheldon’s living room one wintry day.