Memories...

It's tough when something happens to make you realize the passage of time. During those moments, you recognize that things change, and unfortunately, they will never be the same again. It was inevitable that something I came to love and rely on is no longer a part of LO's daily routine, but I do not approve.

I am not resigned to the premature end of Old Faithful, the swing that could:

And yet, despite all our best efforts, the old man is no more. We have burned out his motor. This is hardly surprising, considering we got Old Faithful used to begin with, and the damn thing has been off for a grand total of 20 minutes (non-consecutive) in the past year.

No more will LO stare longingly up at the birds and butterflies that rotate above him. No more will he grab onto said birds and butterflies so that the motor strains (hmmm) to keep the inane carousel going round and round.

LO will have to plot to take over the world elsewhere now, as the swing will no longer provide him with a comfortable, swaying spot to determine the next leg on the path to infant dictatorship. I do hope his political aspirations will survive the loss of Old Faithful.

O.F. did not die all at once. His was a gradual decline. I first noticed that the soothing squeak of his motor was missing from one of LO's naps last week. No matter. I changed the batteries and returned to my writing.

Unfortunately, that soothing squeak was gone--to be heard no more--although the swing still swung. Until it stopped. Thinking the batteries were to blame, I changed them again and again. The music still played, the birds and butterflies still flitted hither and thither, but the swing part of the swing, O.F.'s raison d'etre, seemed to be kaput.

I'm not certain what we will do now that we no longer have to worry about the child launching himself out of the swing. (Well, we can worry about the 986,349,509,621,409,599,347 other ways that he can come up with to hurt himself within that particular 10 square feet of our house. LO being both fearless AND inventive.)

I am trying to decide what the best send off will be for such a good friend. A swing bonfire would probably violate both my environmental sensibilities and the laws of Lafayette. I don't have a shoe box large enough to bury O.F. in. We will probably just have to make do with a dumpster burial, though such a good friend deserves better.

I hope that I can help LO become accustomed to a new future without Old Faithful in it. Some day he will understand that old swings never die; they just fade away.