When we go away, Herself books the dog into a pet-minding service: a couple who live nearby. Inexplicably (to me), they love the dog. They’ve even wondered about asking if they could come and visit her. They didn’t ask because they decided it might sound weird.
And they were right. Not just because visiting others people’s pets isn’t an accepted social norm, but also because I don’t understand what the attraction is. It’s not like the dog acts any differently with them. In their house she barks hysterically and greets any visitor with a puddle of urine. It’s just that they think the dog is cute. A lot of people do, including Herself and Daughter Number Four. I don’t. I think the dog looks like a bat. I hate bats.
I’m not immune to cuteness. Cuteness has been and still is one of the most powerful forces in evolution. It’s why we have pets and why we love babies, no matter how much sleep they rob from us. I recently witnessed an incident with an adorable four-year-old who would routinely draw hearts on her daddy’s car when it was dusty. But on a day when there was no dust to work with, she opted to draw the hearts using a stone. Daddy, understandably, had mixed feelings on the artwork. Yet I found myself suppressing a smirk. Even car-vandalising can be charming.
Cuteness often feeds a parental urge to create memories for our children: even if there’s a good chance the child won’t remember that trip to the theme park or the picnic on the beach. We recently hosted Granddaughter Number One’s third birthday party (Three? Already?), yet I wonder how much she will retain of that day when she’s 10 or 20.
My granddaughter’s birthday party was partially a celebration, but also to mark a departure
We decided to drive the new EV across the country. It wasn’t long before things became tense
Gardening feels like outdoor housework to me but my wife is caught in its grip
One of the greatest joys of an overpriced meal out in Dublin’s southside? Eavesdropping
She probably won’t remember that the night before, staying in our house, she nearly derailed the whole event by suddenly running a temperature and having an upset tummy, only to be completely fine an hour later. Or that she was out of sorts for most of the Big Day, needing to be carried by her parents or intermittently retreating into the house to watch Bluey. She certainly wouldn’t have been aware of the slight fuzz of sadness that infused everything. Her actual birthday wasn’t for another two weeks, but by then she and her parents would be living in France. It was partially to celebrate a birthday, but also to mark a departure.
Keenly aware of this, her parents threw what was a serious contender for Best Kids’ Party Ever. Herself organised plates of sandwiches and various sorts of nibbles. There was, of course, a bouncy castle, and a guy that did face painting and made balloon animals, and pass the parcel with multiple presents. The climax of the afternoon – just as the sun finally emerged – was the arrival of an ice cream van. It was like Electric Picnic. (It was also bark-free: a friend kindly took the dog for the day.)
Granddaughter Number One was involved in some of the games, but never for very long. With kids that age, it’s close to impossible to predict how much, or how little, they will enjoy something. And within a few weeks, or months, she may have forgotten all about it.
But perhaps that’s not the point. It was a truly lovely afternoon, and tribal recollection will keep the memory alive for her. Over the years, all the people who love her will remind her of that day: to the point where she won’t be sure if she remembers it herself or if others have planted the memory within her.
When it was over, she was tired and cranky and not in the mood to give hugs or wave goodbye. This was the last time I saw them before they left the country. I watched as they carefully loaded her into the car. Her eyes were filled with tears. And so were mine.
