“All is Well that’s Maxwell”

A story I wrote from 3.26.11:

Stretching to reach the top of the wooden kitchen table, he wanted to drink from the water bottle his aunt often had by her side.

So before handing my nephew the drink, I showed him how it works.

“Up, down,” I said as I pushed down and pulled up the – what do you call it? – spout, mouthpiece, part you squirt water from to drink, to show Maxwell how to take a gulp. “Up, down, up, down.”

My just-2-months-shy-of-turning-2-years-old nephew began dancing as I spoke. He knew the two words I was repeating in a singsong voice by a song his mother often sang to him. So Max put his arms out in front of him and with his brown hair shaking, began pumping them up and down while at the same time bending his knees to wiggle to the rhythm of my voice.

Can the adorable factor rise any higher?

Armed with the knowledge that Max can turn anything into an entertaining plaything, I tucked the information away to be used soon after. If Max made an encounter with a plastic container of water an endearing event, I knew lots more, innovative and otherwise, delightful experiences awaited.

Therefore, after giving a speech on the evening of Tuesday, March 22 to a crowd of American Cancer Society staff and volunteers, I vowed to leave with a few of the dozens of colorful balloons scattered and lazily swaying around the room. Surely he would be amused by latex-material helium-filled balls. Plus, I knew from previous times that the toddler was thrilled to bop and watch balloons float in the air.

“Sure you can, how many do you want?” was the answer I was met with after asking for some. Two ladies scurried off to get me bunches of the round inflated objects.

Following a night of hanging in my room, I woke to see that all ten of the balloons lost helium, some hanging a few feet from the ceiling and others hovering above the floor. Despite my efforts to salvage my promise of balloons for Max by cutting three from the tangled web and tying them together, I unthinkingly (yes, that’s a word) and regrettably failed to remember to take them from the car to Max’s house later that day when I visited him.

Mimi didn’t deliver.

Till next time, sweet Maxwell, till then.


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