August 22, 2001 - Wednesday
This afternoon when I got Harry from daycare he was playing with toy cars, specifically a matchbox-sized backhoe. Unfortunately, while he was quite happy to see me (that's a delightful reprise of a trend I haven't seen since last winter at the old daycare), he was not so happy to let go of the toy. In the past when this has happened, the daycare provider has just suggested I let Harry take the toy home and bring it back tomorrow. But, I think to myself, Harry is at an age when he needs to learn that some things aren't his, so today I took the backhoe away. It was no simple matter, either. Harry wanted that backhoe and had his little figures wrapped tightly around it. It took a serious effort to release it without really wrenching it from his hands.

Naturally, the disapproval flowed freely from Harry after that and lasted until after I'd put him in his car seat. Then, as I was strapping Harry in and trying to reassure him of my love and good intentions, I noticed the harmonic in the back seat. It was the distraction I was looking for and picked it up and began to play (well, make noise anyway: I'm no harmonica virtuoso). Harry was grabbed. He stared, then smiled and said "more." I played a few more random notes, then tried to get Harry to do it. I tried to show him about blowing and, though it didn't quite happen for him right away, he made enough of a noise after a few tries that I felt safe going around to the driver's seat and heading home. Yet just as I got in the car, Harry made a big noise and the delight began to roll and stayed rolling all the way home.

The wonderful thing about a harmonica is that if you just breathe back and forth through it, it makes at least two different notes and that was enough to have Harry feeling pretty good. Of course, you could also say that hearing two notes from a harmonica over and over would not be so wonderful at all, but that was of surprisingly little consequence over the coming hours for his mother and me, overshadowed completely by watching our son have such a good time. And, eventually, Harry got the hang of moving the harmonica while continuing to blow and he was playing more notes. Perhaps the cutest part of Harry harmonica playing was that he started calling the harmonica "marching band," having seen something of a marching band competition on the television a week or so ago. He'd march around the house playing, fingers needlessly moving up and down as if it were a flute or something.

********

Harry's grandpa stopped by for a brief visit tonight, being in the area on business, and Harry seemed to have little trouble recognizing him. In fact, his mother says that her talking up his arrival had Harry moving from door to door looking for his car to drive up the street. It was a short visit, but Harry was in a good mood and that made it all feel nice.


Comments, opinions?