After a bit of an unordinary Saturday, we had a nothing-special Sunday. It’s a balance of new things and familiarity that we’ve found amenable for Charlie. While bike-riding and piano and cello playing were all nothing unusual for Charlie to do, doing these things for a camera and with a lot unfamiliar people around—-that calls for some unwinding.

Sunday Charlie woke up early and then went back to sleep (actually, we all slept in). He had breakfast and wanted to eat more and when I suggested he ride his bike to the bagel store with Jim, Charlie called for his helmet and put on his socks and shoes and sweatshirt. He looked in the usual place for the helmets and only found a very old one of Jim’s (that makes the wearer look like he has a turtle on his head). Charlie tried it on and put it down and I noticed that the helmets were on the floor in front of a bookshelf. Charlie grabbed one and I brought Jim the other one: “They’re interchangeable!” Jim noted and off they went, not to return for an hour and a half, Jim swinging a plastic bag loaded down with juices and a bagels from his handlebars.

Charlie ran for a plate and grabbed his Leapsters and the bagel bag and set himself up on the couch—yes, you read that right—it is now Leapsters. Saturday afternoon we realized that Charlie’s original Leapster—lovingly carried to many places and always under Charlie’s arm when we go to New York—-had suffered too may falls and dents and was stuck at the opening screen. (Charlie also likes to carry it by the attached stylus sometimes, and that has led to it working erratically.) I got online and looked up the Target website and found, lo and behold! our local Target had Leapsters in stock and so to Target we went, where Charlie (once I found the aisle with Leapfrog products) stood solemnly eyes agog at a stack of Leapsters (green and pink). He looked at me (yes, pleadingly) and I said (of course I said), “Sure, you can get one.”

The Leapster box was carried tightly under Charlie’s arm as we made our way through the store. Charlie and Jim wandered into the DVD aisle while I located shampoo and soap; I found Jim waving a book at me. Its title was Goodnight Goon, a parody of what is still Charlie’s much loved book (and we both agreed, it doesn’t quite compare to the original, but maybe we’re overly sentimental.)

Charlie pushed the Leapster box toward me soon as we got home and told me “I need help.” I got out scissors and then batteries (just purchased) and a screwdriver and soon Charlie had his new Leapster going; he ran to get the old (chipped, battered) one and set them side by side.

So Sunday, he made sure to have those Leapsters around as he ate his bagel, and then took them to his room where he was going through a rather messy pile of old CDs. I again heard the call “help” and “fix“; when I went into his room, Charlie handed me a CD with a picture of Barney on it. Part of the CD had broken off and I said ok and got some tape and, with Charlie scrutinizing my every move, carefully lined up the edges of the CD and the chipped off part and handed it to him.

“Thank you,” said Charlie.

I said, of course, you’re welcome, and went to tell Jim because, yes, first time Charlie has said that on his own.

Thank you, Charlie.

I heard a drawer open and noted Charlie in the kitchen, a roll of Scotch tape in his left hand. He hummed and mumbled while leaning over the counter. There were soft ripping sounds: Tape tearing. On glancing into the kitchen, I didn’t see any gigantic wads of tape accruing on the counter and went back to answering work-related emails.

Later—picking up Jim’s blue coat and various random items from the floor of Charlie’s room—I found this doily heart:

(The sparkles are where there’s tape.)

The heart had come home in Charlie’s backpack two weeks ago on Valentine’s Day. He has been occasionally putting it back into the backpack and looking at it, and the heart had gotten ripped, just like so many of my favorite photos of Charlie, in the time—a few years ago—when he tore any photo he found in half, and then into bits; there went many precious pictures of him on the merry-go-round with the happiest smile and a big baby in Jim’s arms.

The first time this happened, I took out some tape and, prompting Charlie to say “help, fix it,” carefully taped the pieces together, only to find the photo ripped apart a few hours later. Charlie giggled gleefully while pointing to the confetti he’d made. He grabbed my hand and said “help, fix!”—-and then he cried and moaned when he saw how the taped-up photo looked compared to the originals, and even more when the photo had been shredded and wrinkled and taped too many times to be fixed. Sometimes Charlie tried to tape the pieces of photo back together himself, but his long fingers struggled to measure out small enough pieces of tape and small mounds of the sticky stuff—looking like abandoned birds’ nests—littered the floor. Eventually we told Charlie that if he tore up a photo, that was that, and for years most of our photos were hidden in the darkest corners of the basement.

Slowly, slowly, Charlie has learned to use the computer mouse and to look at digital photos. He looks at regular photos now too, and without incident, and keeps careful watch over these treasures, stored in his ghost bucket.

As I inspected the doily heart on the floor of Charlie’s room tonight, I saw that the tears had been repaired by the careful application of a winding piece of Scotch tape.

That the heart, a little ripped for the wear, had been made whole again.