There Are The Ones We Push, The Ones That Hold Everything Together, And The Ones We Replace.

“The simplest toy, one which even the youngest child can operate, is called a grandparent.”  Sam Levenson

I dug into my old sewing basket that sits on top of the washing machine and resurrected seventeen distinctive yet exclusive buttons. 

I dumped them into one of two small bowls which I set on the counter side by side. 

This was the first of many distractions I would exploit for the next few weeks while watching my three granddaughters. I told them every night after dinner, we would move one button from one bowl to the other, and when all the buttons were gone, their parents would be home.

Brilliant, I know.

Of course, they secretly try to move extra buttons every day in the hopes this would speed up their parent’s return, but life doesn’t work that way. 

It happens one button at a time.

Welcome, fellow grandparents and greats, aunties and uncles, cousins and friends, to the wild and unpredictable adventure of watching one’s children’s children for seventeen days! Not that I’m counting. 

What I want to know is, when did I become double-chinned? I had to ask myself after inspecting several images I found unexpectedly on my iPhone one night. I thought the image of an old lady loading the dishwasher had to be someone else, then there was a close-up of the oven, a renegade ant, and what appears to be mold from the shower. What the hell?

Watching the grandkids has been as challenging as riding in tandem with Larry because he still thinks of me as the stoker instead of the captain. And, as you can imagine, he enjoys being reminded, repeatedly, that when it comes to the grandchildren, I’m steering the ship. He does not docilely acquiesce, but he’ll have to don his big boy underwear because I have other things to worry about. 

And then you throw in my daughter Kelley (who refers to herself as the clutch), admittedly she was part of the emergency backup plan (because my daughter Julie is an over-achiever and decided last minute to fly in her sister ~ and can we all say a collective Amen). I’d be remiss if I didn’t mention our diligent Uncle Dante (who has thrown in his support willingly or not), who not only reads with Audrey but helps with her math, which is suddenly beyond my skill set. This is our hazmat team, and we have some hilarious escapades to share. 

For those of you who don’t get queasy at the sight of blood, a schedule that would challenge NASA or mismatched shoes, please feel free to read on or just drop down to the sugary summary. 

I realize now that my initial intentions have not materialized, and although those intentions were admittedly ambitious, they were also self-serving. It was my hope the children would have so much fun with their grandparents, Kiki (their name for Kelley), and Uncle Dante that they wouldn’t be homesick for their parents, and they would remember these few weeks fondly for the rest of their lives. 

Well, they might remember these few weeks for the rest of their lives, but fondly could be a stretch, and they desperately miss their parents. I do too!

On the other hand, I’ll never forget mornings watching them rock out to This Girl Is On Fire in the kitchen and how quickly I became enamored with the words. “Looks like a girl, but she’s a flame, so bright, she can burn your eyes, better look the other way” Kiki joined the impromptu dancing queens, and let me just say I’ve never seen anything like it. I attached the song at the end of the post. Go ahead, dance in the kitchen as if you’re on fire, I’m sure no one is watching. 

I have become the unauthorized treat queen, designer of counting red cars on the way to school (our current record is 38), and expert bath monitor. Thank God I thought to buy designer bandaids, fruit roll-ups, and three spanking new jump ropes as part of my memory-making plans pre-parental escape. Clearly, my most important task is hugs and kisses, but when you stub your toe jumping rope, there is nothing more healing than a floral bandaid and a sugary treat.

Perpetual Motion

Remember the days when Larry and I could binge-watch our favorite Netflix series or take a leisurely stroll to our favorite breakfast joint before a brisk walk around the park? Well, those days are long gone! Our grandkids are in perpetual motion. They would put the Energizer Bunny to shame. I’ve discovered that they have secret reserves of energy, and just when I’m flashing “low battery,” will shut down if I do not plug in, it’s as if my sheer exhaustion gives them an unexpected jolt. It defies all logic. 

One minute, they’re innocently coloring at the table, and the next, they’re doing cartwheels across the kitchen floor. And let’s not forget their uncanny ability to transform the entire living room into a hot lava game where your feet are not allowed to touch the floor. 

“Grammie, jump on the pillow, or you’ll be burned alive.” 

“Oh, you don’t have to worry, if you’re drinking a glass of wine, you’re exempt.”

“What’s exempt?”

“Absolved from all liabilities, especially hot lava.” Bahaha 

It’s like living in a constant game of hide-and-seek where the goal is to find the elusive sanity I once had while simultaneously keeping everyone alive. It’s tricky.

The Food Connoisseurs

Okay, I admit, I was not prepared for all the food shenanigans. When did my grandkids become so particular about what they eat? We have a list of acceptable foods left by their parents, but when we scan the list of approved foods for dinner options, they suddenly don’t like anything. The next thing I know, I’m preparing Michelin-starred snacks with cheese, eggs, and toothpicks, the likes of which would impress Anthony Bourdain (may he rest in peace). I’m not kidding. I’ve run to the grocery store every day (sometimes twice), and now I’m haggling with the checkout clerk over the price of eggs like the housewives of Long Island. 

Audrey, “No, Grammie, I only eat peanut butter sandwiches cut into triangles, with the crust removed and a half of sliced apple, but only the red ones, with no skin!” 

Me, “Is cow’s milk okay, or are we drinking some sort of organic oatmeal blend these days?”

“Grammie, I want what you’re drinking.”

“In fifteen years, honey.”

It gets better when they change their minds halfway through the meal and claim I put used too much jelly in between the peanut butter. Is there such a thing? 

The Language Barrier

Sometimes I think my grandkids are speaking a foreign language, especially the twins, and it might be easier if we just used sign language. They have inside jokes that I fail to understand, or they get lost in some sort of imaginary play that has absolutely nothing to do with our current reality, the bathtub has become a haven for lost mermaids, and apparently, mermaids don’t sleep. So I crawl into their bed because Grammie loves to sleep.

“What does ‘bollix’ mean?” you might ask. I tried to google it, but by the time I found the answer, they’d moved on. So now I just nod as if I’m perfectly comfortable deciphering gibberish and know exactly what they’re talking about. It means bungling a task. That’s rich. 

Three Fashionistas

I don’t know about you, but I am not and never have been fashion-forward. I have my own style, and I stick with it day after day. Every morning I make the lunches while Kelley acts like a short-order cook and creates these extraordinary breakfasts, one after the other. Then she hustles them into their rooms to dress. 

Thank God there are several hands on deck because it takes me all morning to cut the crusts off their bread and get their gourmet lunches in the right lunch boxes and then in the right backpacks with the right water bottles. Filled, not empty, by the way. I do have a graduate degree which is absolutely no help.

They enjoy selecting their own outfits. If anything, my grandkids are here to remind me that fashion has taken a sharp left turn into a new and unfamiliar realm. Sienna prefers whimsical dresses with shorts underneath, whereas Cora, who has a unicorn fetish, likes these images not only her shirt and shorts but her socks. 

And then there is Audrey, who is a wannabe fashionista.

She says, “Grammie, my friend is bringing me a matching shirt to wear today so we can be twins.”

Me, “Does it show your belly?”

“No, it’s her older sister’s shirt, so it’ll be big on me.”

That’s a worry, “okay, wear a tank top underneath.”

I get the look. Is she related to Larry or what? 

Cora made me a glittery tiara the other day with faded rose petals taped to the base and insisted I wear it to the grocery store. The clerk gave me an extra discount on the wine.  

The Wisewomen

There has been a lot of mayhem and laughter. I’m ever so thankful that Kelley and Dante are here, they are the difference between absolute chaos and blissful success. Kelley leaves early next week, and I’m already fretting. 

One of the things I love the most is the exchange of wisdom that only happens between the generations. 

Cora says, “Grammie, take my hand, it’s easier to walk.” And I still don’t know if she means me or her.

Sienna tells me about swim lessons, “If you relax, you float, if you are stiff, you sink.” That should be taught in school.

Audrey informs me, “Momma lets me stay up an extra hour, so I have time to think.” I do the same damn thing. 

I’m continually amazed at the new perspectives and, yes, the life lessons my grandkids bring into my world. They want to borrow my glasses so they can see the world as I see it. Then they tell me it’s blurry. When I try and see the world through their eyes, they remind me to embrace silliness, dance as if I’m on fire, and find joy in the simple things like floral bandaids, lollipops, and jump ropes. 

Maybe growing up doesn’t have to mean growing old. I’m discovering that the very old and the very young have something in common, we don’t care what other people think, and if we want to wear our shirts backward, count the red cars on the way to school, and wear our crowns to the grocery store, then we do. And we do it with pizzazz. It is good and right that we should be left alone together, but let’s hope their parents don’t decide to stay another week. 

Because I believe I’ve run out of buttons… 

I’m Living in the Gap, this girl might be exempt, but I’m burning to join you in the comments.

PS My mom used to watch my kids every three years for a week when Larry and I escaped to Hawaii. Now I wish I could thank her all the more profusely.

Grow Damn It is available at Amazon. If you think someone might enjoy my book ~ write a review! It gives me something to look forward to after the kids go to bed.

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