Day in the Life with Grandsons

  We Get the Boys For the Night

Also Known As: Why Grandparents Have Gray Hair)

We have the boys for the night — what a joy.

And by “joy,” I mean chaos wrapped in giggles, dipped in dirt, and sprinkled with Gold Bond powder.

This morning I was already outside, hosing off the tarp to the kiddie pool like a woman preparing for battle. I refilled the rinse pan with clean water because little feet collect grass, dirt, and whatever mysterious substances Oklahoma grows in the yard. They rinse their feet before diving in. That’s the rule. I enforce it like TSA.

Act I: Yesterday, the moment the pool filled, both boys stripped naked and dove in like two feral otters returning to the wild.

We dragged the little Jungle Gym over so they could slide straight into the pool.

My grandsons are not spoiled — they require things.

I wanted pictures without tiny bare butts, so I finally convinced them to put on little undershorts. Papaw kept refilling the pool as they splashed out half the water.

Teamwork.

Act II: This morning as I finally sat down with my cold coffee (because hot coffee is for people without toddlers) and tried to check my email.

The internet wouldn’t connect.

Oh no.

I went to troubleshoot the router… except the router was missing.

I followed the wires like a crime scene investigator and found it under the sofa, unplugged, disconnected, and looking traumatized.

How did it get under there?

Hmm.

Two little monkeys on the loose… mystery solved.

During the search, I also found the long lost binky stuck to the back of the couch like a fossil.

Lovely.

Then Van walked in.

“Where’s my deodorant? I left it by my chair.”

Yes. Because that’s where deodorant belongs. Not in the bathroom cabinet like civilized humans.

We searched until we found it — inside his boot.

Apparently it grew legs and walked there.

Act III: I put the boys down for a nap, Van went to gas up the four wheeler, and I started cleaning the house.

Little did I know…

They woke up early, found Papaw’s giant bottle of Gold Bond powder, and made it snow in the living room.

A blizzard.

A whiteout.

A full scale powderpocalypse.

Every inch of the living room was dusted — Van’s boots, his recliner, the floor, the boys themselves. Their hair, faces, and clothes looked like they’d been caught in a cocaine raid on Cops.

I tossed them in the bathtub, scrubbed them down, then sent them outside to Papaw and the pool while I shoveled the living room.

Act IV: Van took Captain Chaos somewhere, so it was just Sir WhatTheHeck and me.

We rode the four wheeler, and when we got off, Sir WhatTheHeck pointed to the exhaust pipe and said,

“That’s really hot, Mimom.”

I said, “Oh goodness, yes it is. DO NOT TOUCH IT.”

So naturally…

He touched it.

Fifteen popsicles later (probably more), he felt better.

It kept his finger cool and his mind off the burn.

Yes, it blistered right up.

Poor little Sir WhatTheHeck

By bedtime, the boys were clean, fed, powdered down (again), and finally calm.

I wasn’t.

I sat there with my cold coffee, my living room smelling like menthol snowdrifts, my router traumatized under the sofa, Van’s deodorant still suspiciously warm from its time in the boot, and Sir WhatTheHeck eating his sixteenth popsicle like it was doctor prescribed.

And I thought:

Grandparents don’t need vacations.

We need medals.

Big shiny ones.

With hazard pay.

But then Sir WhatTheHeck crawled into my lap, wrapped his little blistered hand around my arm, and whispered,

“I love you, Mimom.”

And just like that…

I’d do the whole circus again tomorrow.

Five Days Until Christmas

Five days until Christmas, when all through the house I searched for my laptop — where is that danged mouse? The stockings were hung from the old deer rack, But I couldn’t find scotch tape, not even a gift sack.

The married kids were nestled all snug in their beds, And I did not need visions of that in my head. I sipped on a hot toddy, ate a cookie or two, Looked around in wide wonder — I had so much to do.

I stumbled to bed, thinking, Tomorrow’s the day. I’ve still got some time… there must be a way. The shopping, the planning, the cooking to do — Just thinking of it all was turning me blue.

When suddenly next door there arose such a clatter, I leapt from my bed to see what was the matter. And what to my wondering eyes should appear But my neighbor with a gun, acting all queer.

Shouting and screaming as he waved it around, “Those danged squirrels — I’ll hunt them all down!” I leaned out my window and let out a scream, “How dare you! You’re mean — mean, mean, mean!”

He pointed his gun with a wild little glare, “Stay out of this… or it’ll be warfare!” But then down the street came a cruiser so bright, Black‑and‑white flashing, sirens alight.

He dropped his gun fast, looking frantic and sick, Threw up his hands and surrendered real quick. More rapid than eagles those officers came — He stomped and he swore, the squirrels he did blame.

They cuffed him and stuffed him and hauled him away, And I heard him still crying, “This is so not my day!” I leaned out my window and couldn’t help but shout, “You better not cry, you better not pout…

’Cause Santa Claus is coming… to town — And that’ll teach you to hunt my poor squirrels down!”

Embarrassing my Kids (or myself)

12-22-04

  My kids are here for the holidays! yay!

 Oklahoma City here we come... last minute shopping we live for it.

"Hey BASS PRO SHOP! Can we stop?" Rob called from the back seat.

why not I thought.

 Blinker on.. we zipped through four lanes of traffic... only to realize the exit is to the left.. we zipped back across traffic.

" MOOOOOOOM  WE'RE ALL GONNA DIE!"

"No we're not.. I used my blinker!"

 "Are those ducks?" Rob was like a kid in a bass pro shop without a gun. oh yeah that's where we were.

 "They are decoys" I said as I make sure he isn't actually going after the ducks.

  We pull open the big heavy doors, walk across the lobby, go through the turnstiles.

 "Hey I know you!" The greeter says to me.

  My kids are staring at me like what did you do Mom? Ya said you were only there once over a year ago.. what did you do to this poor man that he would remember you?!

 I smiled and shook my head like mistaken identity.

'No it's really YOU!" He says as he comes over like my long lost cousin.

 Brandy poked me, "Come on Mom tell!"

 I mumbled something about I'm sure he's mistaken.

 "I will never forget you two." He just wont let it go.

 "Okay you're right. It's me, Last time we were here, we saw the turnstiles, all the beautiful displays, we wondered how much  we had to pay to get in. He motioned for us to get our butts in. He asked what was going on, I asked how much to get in. he laughed and said he'd heard everything, Pay to get in Bass Pro Shop. he Wanted to know where we were from.

 Hicksville Oklahoma???

Losing Bob at VA

Life's an Adventure when you take old people to the Doctor they get out at the door, she waited for me, he didn't. 


 The one with the appointment disappeared how do you find them in a 7 story hospital?? his cell phone is at home. he has the appointment cards in his pocket.


 We didn't know who he was seeing or why and without a social security number.. they wouldn't give me any information.


She refused to budge from the corner in a back office she thought he would come there eventually to get his travel pay. ( In reality, its a huge battle to drag him to that office to wait in line to get the 65.00 they pay him to travel to see the Dr. I knew he wouldn't find the place on his own, or volunteer to stand there for the money.)


 My dad taught me.. go back to where you last seen them and wait... by the parking lot.


 Meanwhile she got tired of waiting and went outside to look for me..  out the front doors of the hospital, the parking is in the back.   She had a cell phone and called to find out when I was going to pick her up. (As soon as I find him, she needs to go back inside where it's cool)
Four hours later Bob showed up where I dropped him off.

 I tell ya its like herding chickens!!

Who Me?

The dog was going nuts at the glass door. I looked out and my ability to talk just left as I was yelling oooo oooo eeeeeee gaaaaaahhhhhhh.

'

Jodee and mom ran in to see what was wrong with me. LOL.

A huge buck was staring in at us not 25 feet away.

Jodee grabbed her phone, 

I couldn't think where my camera would be. (Its always in my purse or pocket. I had checked my pockets.. empty.)

I found my camera in my purse upstairs, skipping stairs going up and coming down.

He was just looking at us like WHAT? you never seen a deer before?

I didn't let my poor camera focus as i snapped away. I didn't zoom. I FORGOT I HAD zoom. He was like you want my side view... how about a head shot? He posed for us to take pictures. 

I finally calmed down enough to focus and zoom.

As he walked away, i turned on the video. He stopped at the life sized fake deer, looked at it as if to say, COME ONNNNN... he went over and nosed it a bit to get it to follow him. finally he gave up and left.

I  t has been one of those days! When I was looking for mom's other pair of slippers to match the pair she was wearing. (mismatched) I found a tomato in her suitcase.. I dug a little deeper in her bag and found  some garlic and onion. I had to laugh when I pulled out the wok spatula.

 Mom followed me into her room to see what I was doing. I held out the items I'd found and said. 

  "Are you making spaghetti?"

   "I don't know how that got in there."

   We both laughed and laughed. Me because I just want to cry, this is not the mom I knew all my life.

   Mom laughed because I was laughing. 

Adventure 2 in a small town

   fter renting the little house—and surviving Mr. Turner’s pop‑quiz—I went outside to figure out my actual address. No contract, no paperwork, no “Welcome to your new home” packet. Nothing.

So I checked the house number on the porch. Then I had to drive three blocks just to find a street sign, because every single one of them was turned. I thought, Surely there aren’t three streets named Broadway. But in this town, who knows.

I finally marched into City Hall and told the clerk, “I live at 210 Broadway.”

She stared at me like I’d just announced a UFO landing. “Who moved?” she asked.

How should I know—and who cares? “I don’t know,” I said. “My address is 210 Broadway.”

She squinted at me. “Where is Broadway?”

The City Hall clerk. Asking me. Where her own street is.

I smiled politely and said, “I’m assuming the three signs that say Broadway are just turned, and the street out front is Broadway.”

She nodded slowly, like she was solving a math problem. “Oh. Hmm… Who are your neighbors?”

I had been in town for five minutes and she was asking me questions like I’d lived there since the Eisenhower administration.

“They really don’t like strangers,” I thought. “I must be the first one she’s ever encountered.”

So I said, “Mr. Turner is my landlord. He’s on the west.”

She let out a huge sigh of relief. “Oh! You live in the Fields’ house.”

I did not know who the Fields were. I would soon learn.

Turns out the Fields were currently in jail for having an old‑fashioned gunfight across Broadway with the guy across the street. Not a metaphor. Not an exaggeration. A literal shootout like it was 1883.

Anytime someone asked where we lived, we’d say, “Fields’ house,” and they’d launch into the same story about the gunfight. Every. Single. Time.

Our official address—printed right on my utility bill—was:

“One block south of the post office, two blocks west, middle of the block.”

Not a number. Not a street. Just… directions. Like we lived in a corn maze.

And that’s when I realized: I hadn’t just moved to a small town. I’d moved into a geographical suggestion

Living in a Small Town

We were visiting a small town when I spotted the sweetest little house for rent. Picture‑perfect. Porch swing energy. I asked the landlord, Mr. Turner, “How much is the deposit?”

He said, “I don’t need a deposit. I just have some questions.”

I thought he meant normal rental questions. He did not.

Mr. T: “Why did you move to our little town?” Me: “The cheap rent.” (He blinked like I’d said a cuss word.)

Mr. T: “Who are you related to?” Me: “Do I have to be related to someone?” Mr. T: “We don’t want no strangers in our little town.” Me: They let you in… (I did NOT say that out loud.)

So I said, “Morris family.” His eyebrows went up. Apparently that was the magic password.

Mr. T: “How many kids will be going to our nice little school?” Me: “Two.” (I still don’t know why this mattered. Was he taking attendance?)

Mr. T: “Will you be having any wild parties?” Me: “Not that I know of. Do you want invited to one?” He did not laugh.

Mr. T: “What are your children’s names?” Me: “Why? Do you need one of them for a deposit?” Still no laugh.

Mr. T: “Are you going to join the Lions Club?” Me: “Do I have to?” Mr. T: “No… but it would be the neighborly thing to do.”

Then he asked, “What church do you go to?”

Me: “I have to go to church?” (The look on his face…) “I belong to the big one.”

That seemed to settle his spirit. “Well,” he said, “looks like you’ll do.”

I asked, “Aren’t you going to write any of this down?” He waved me off. “What for? I won’t forget it.”

I pulled out cash for the deposit.

Mr. T: “Oh, I’d rather have a check. I’m afraid I’ll lose cash.” Me: “I only have an out‑of‑state check.” Mr. T: “Is it any good?” Me: “Yes, but…” (I could’ve been lying. He had no idea.)

He shrugged. “Well, then it’s good enough for me. I know where ya live.”

He took the check and handed me the keys.

And that’s how I passed the Small‑Town Background Check — no paperwork, just who ya know.