Our Walk

“Mama!” I hear from the back of the house.  “MAMA!”

“What, Jack?  What do you need?”

“Mama, we to go the dragon?”  I am walking towards the sound of his voice, and I find him there in our back hall, sitting in his “dragon” –  a cherry red Radio Flyer wagon that his grandparents bought him.  He pats the bumbo seat that I had left in there from before.  “Get da baby, mama.  Wet’s go!  Where da baby?”  Note – if we, as parents, ever have a major brain fry and for some odd reason forget to take Liam somewhere, his brother’s got his back.

I go get da baby and plop him in the bumbo, and then pull my precious cargo toward the front door.  We weave our way through doorways, toys, thread the needle between the couches and the tv, barely squeeze past the dining table, and we’re out the front door and into the early spring air of New Orleans.  I tug them down our narrow cement walkway to the sidewalk and take a left.  It is pretty beautiful out here.

Jack points out trees and flowers for Liam.  “See Weem?  That’s a twee!  Twee wight there!”  Liam doggedly chews on an Elmo toy.  We bounce our way over the wretched New Orleans sidewalks.  I sometimes get stuck at particularly heinous cracks, but can usually get a hand hoisting my load up and over the rut from people who pass.  We pass the stunningly renovated double shotgun next to the bookstore.  It’s one of many homes recently done-up in our area: formerly a bunch of rotting boards and broken windows, the home was taken down to the studs and rebuilt to dreamy perfection.  I smile at the owner, who is standing in his tiny front yard, smoking a cigarette.  We keep walking.  We pass the yoga studio, the martial arts center, the bakery.  All three are full of people, getting fit in the one place, fat in the other.  A woman exits her house, corralling three little kids into a van.  Another woman passes by, pushing her child on a push bike.  They wave, meet, talk, part.

We round the corner and head back toward our house.  The Roman Candy man, who lives a few doors down from us, is returning home.  His horse clops, clops, clops down the city street.  We watch him open the barn doors attached to his urban house, watch the horse and cart disappear into the backyard, watch the doors close.  Jack says “Neigh!  Neigh, Weem!”  Weem chews his Elmo.

*picture not mine

We say a quick hello to our neighbor, who gasps over Liam’s size, tells Jack he’s a good big brother.  I look up the narrow cement pathway back to our front door – look out at the sun and chirping birds and life on the street – and keep on walking.  There’s time for another turn around the block.