For some foolish reason that I don’t
remember, Marjorie and I invited our granddaughters to spend the first week of
April with us. “Spring Break,” I believe it is called, a weeklong vacation for
exhausted teachers who need to resurrect their sanity that expired in the
interval after Xmas. I used to wonder about that, but no longer now that I have
experienced and barely survived a week-long “vacation” with our two grandchildren.
Kylie (almost 8) Shana (almost 6)
To be perfectly fair, I should say
upfront that the two girls, aged almost eight and almost six, are well-behaved
tykes without any particular phobias or issues that would render them
ungovernable. On the contrary, they seem exceedingly pleasant and destined to
do well in spite of their share of chromosomes that stem from my side of the
family tree. It is just that the two of them seem to have unreasonable
expectations - things like eating several times a day, avoiding naps and
bedtime at all costs, and requiring Gramma and Granpa to be their competitors
in the dozen or so games that were required each day.
It was exhausting. Most days I was
too busy to indulge in my regular naps. That, and the vigors of the day-long
activities just about did me in. In fact, during the days the little darlings
were here, I had to extend my cocktail hour considerably to maintain my balance
that is tenuous at best.
The week began with the obligatory
egg preparation and follow-up Easter egg hunt. We decorated about a thousand
eggs and then planned a menu of egg salad sandwiches for the next month or so.
After that all-morning diversion, my job was to hide the colored eggs around
the yard for the afternoon hunt. The task was problematic since snow covered
about half the normal search area in what will become a lawn someday if the
temperature ever gets above freezing. Nevertheless, I was determined to make
the experience of finding eggs last most of the afternoon so I could tire them
out enough for an early bedtime for them and a leisurely evening for me. To
make the egg finding a little more difficult, I began putting eggs in the woods
along the lawn. At first, I ventured just a few feet into the shaded area to
deposit my eggs. Then, after I had a mere dozen eggs remaining and I had run
out of good hiding places, I trekked deeper into the gloom, laughing fiendishly
as I secreted the remaining globes among the pines. I was hoping for a
devilishly long and memorable hunt for the little beggars.
It took me about 40 minutes to
secret the eggs under leaves, behind trees and balanced on tree branches in the
deep woods. When I finished, we gathered at the porch with the two little ones straining
at my pant legs till I blew the whistle to begin. Off they went, chattering as
they ran. I headed indoors for a hot coffee to warm my innards. Before I had
finished my first cup, I heard the girls on the porch. They had finished the
egg search. It took them ten minutes to find all my eggs. Ten minutes. Every
egg. Apparently, my grandkids are the kind who can search out eggs by smell or
some sort of X-ray vision as they hunger for the glory of the conquest and the
sugar high from the chocolates in the plastic eggs. I looked at my watch.
Another eight hours till bedtime. Marjorie suggested that we play a game. We
played our first game of the day while munching on chocolate bunnies.
The next day was similar to the
first with a trip to the swimming pool instead of an egg search. Except in this
case, the reverse occurred as I finished swimming in about ten minutes while
the girls were just getting warmed up. No one except me wanted to leave so
soon. We compromised; the girls swam and cavorted in the big and deep pool
while I lounged in the warmer kiddy pool, whining about having to stay so long.
After the swim everyone was hungry so we headed to the nearest restaurant. Then
it was back home for another kid’s game.
The games were a both a blessing and
curse. Here is an example. By the fourth day of their visit, Wednesday evening,
I was a little groggy since I was again too busy for my afternoon nap. Hence, I
was less than enthusiastic when it was determined that we would play a rousing
game of Cadoo! We decided on partners, the eight-year old and me, Marjorie and
the six-year old (since the two of them speak the same language). Despite my
groggy brain, my partner and I pressed our age and experience advantage to take
a quick lead in the game that became spirited as the evening progressed. My
grogginess disappeared as I scored point after point with cleverly drawn
figures that allowed my perceptive partner to guess their meaning. Then the
unthinkable happened - our opponents began to gain on us. The tension in the
air became palpable as our lead began to evaporate, point after point. My team
suspected the opponents were using unfair techniques. (Since the five-year-old was
unable to read the game cards, Marjorie whispered the instructions from each
card to her). It was OK as long as my partner and I were winning but when the
tide began to turn, we suspected the whispering included forbidden hints about
the answers. Surely, my loyal wife of 40-odd years wouldn’t stoop to such
nefarious tactics!
Then it happened. The tenth point of
the game brought us to a tie. After my partner and I had worked long and hard
in making figures from clay and correctly acting out words, the opposing sneaks
had managed to tie the score. The final and determining point of the game was
at hand, their turn to act out a word, our requirement to guess the meaning. If
we guessed the word, they would win.(This game is kind of backwards to normal
scoring) The five year old and 65 year-old whispered intently while we waited
nervously as the sand began to spill from the hour-glass timer. Suddenly, the
little one stood as still as a statue while Marjorie began slathering her from
head to toe with a make-believe something. Done with the slathering, she then
made preparations to eat the little girl, her very own little granddaughter! We
watched in silence, utterly confounded. Neither of us had a clue.
The last granules of sand dropped
from the hourglass. It dawned on me that since neither of us had the foggiest idea about the meaning of the
charade, WE HAD WON! YES! I did a quick high five with the
almost-eight-year-old while the almost-five-year-old looked on sadly. Our team,
the almost-eight -year old and me, made a quick circle around the table for
another high five, while we celebrated our win bowing to the make-believe
stadium full of cheering admirers.
It took another half hour of
discussing the game before we were able to convince the girls that it was
bedtime. The almost-six-year old demanded a replay but I begged off with the
‘need our rest’ excuse.
By the way, the losing word the
opponents were required to act out: corn-on-the-cob. Sometimes, the heavens
smile on me, I murmured as I drifted off to sleep.
The rest of the vacation included
climbing sand dunes, hiking in the woods and lots of restaurant time plus
several get-even games involving rolling dice and figures on game boards. I
drew the line at “Pretty Pretty Princess” although I think Marjorie and the
girls were involved in that endeavor several times. The week sped by. I hope
the girls have nice memories of their spring vacation. I hope to rest up before
we invite them for our annual, ‘little girl’ camping trip. (We are brutes for
punishment).
