Last week, the twins (three-year-old grandsons – I refer to them as,’the monkeys’) spent two days with their nana, while their dad was getting an operation on his foot.
It went okay, too cold to go to the park, but in my daughter’s van (the kids come with their own vehicle) we went to the Children’s Museum. They played, ran around, and mostly had a blast.
There was one unpleasant moment when Levi (sometimes referred to as, ‘the fat one’) came towards me, doing his Frankenstein walk. I knew from past experience there was some giant load in his underwear, and I was in for a bunch of – well, you know what I mean.
Turned out he’d only peed on himself, big relief. Levi instructed his nana in how to get paper towels (evidently he’s had some experience with this), and blot dry his pants, socks, and underwear, so he could get back to his playing.
Disaster avoided (I had visions of dragging two, stinking, screaming three-year-olds out the front door, and across the parking lot) it was great the rest of the morning. We came back to my house, ate, and took good naps (yes, even me).
After nap time my daughter called to say the coast was clear to bring them home, and had they had dinner yet?
I said, “Not yet.”
She wondered if I might watch them a little longer, so she could go to the grocery store (cleverly shifting the blame to me, for her having to go to the store to buy food, to make their dinner).
I said OK, realizing the coast was no longer clear as I’d first been informed, and put Ice Age on the TV (TV is a BIG treat for those guys).
Ice Age was over, and they had an emergency dinner of scrambled eggs with cheese, yogurt with fruit, and toast with jelly (only Levi didn’t want jelly on his – so I had to eat it).
Their momma called, and said the coast really was clear. Bring them home.
With a great big smile on my face, I turned to the boys, and said, “Hey guys, your momma says you can go home.”
Tyler (sometimes referred to as ‘the charmer’) was standing near me. He put his hands behind his back, looked down sadly, shook his head, and said, “Nope”.
I was shocked. They had NEVER been anything but happy as hell when I said they could go home.
“No?” I asked.
“No.” Tyler admitted.
Levi chimed in. “No,” he said, rather happily.
“You guys don’t want to go home?”
I heard a bunch of nopes as they wandered off to play.
I realized I was trapped , as I was too exhausted to argue with them, something they both appeared to understand long before I did.
Then I wondered how people on the planet only three years, were able to figure that out?
I called my daughter, and told her what was going on.
She laughed, and said cheerfully, “Well, I guess you’re gonna keep them another night, call me if they change their minds,” and hung up.
Evidently, the entire family had changed in drastic ways.
Jessica always missed them, always wanted them home as soon as possible. She was so totally unlike her own mother, I sometimes wondered if we were related. But still, that’s the way she was, until she wasn’t.
I had to admit, part of me was flattered. I always loved it when my older grandkids wanted to stay longer, and now the little ones were doing it too. I was also glad my daughter wasn’t so hermetically sealed to her children anymore, and making me feel guilty for never having been like her.
I began thinking about baths, and wondering what in the hell to put on Levi, as he’d peed in his pajamas. I was debating in my head, how bad the pajamas would smell vs trying to find something else acceptable to Levi (improbable), when they came over to me.
Like hearing from some tiny socialist committee, I was informed, “Go home”.
So I took them home, and drove myself back to my house in my little car, exhausted, worn out, and happy as crap.
Love on a Half Shell
What happens when a thirty-something woman is handed her sister’s messed-up kids, and then finds the love of her life? Meet Rae Green, a woman who could handle anything . . . or so she thought.
Three parts love, two parts grit…the perfect recipe to save a family
I blog here and with Tea and Strumpets (www.teanstrumpets.com)