A few weeks ago my man and I take two of our son’s three little boys for four hours of fun, fun, fun with PaPa and Pammy.
We drive the 45-mintues to pick them up, making plans along the way: walk in the park, an hour in the new playground near our house, a swim at the local pool, maybe we’d even have time to bake cookies!
After car seats are maneuvered into the back seat, the 3-year-old and 4-year-old grandsons are strapped in, and we make the noisy ride back to our place amidst:
“When are we getting there?” “Where’s Henry the dog?” “Can we sit on Henry?” How does a dog get arthritis?” “What IS arthritis?” “Can I have a drink?” “I’m hungry!” “How much longer?”
When we arrive, the 4-year-old plops himself on the lounge chair in our deck overlooking the Bay, puts his hand behind his head, and exclaims, “What a view! I’m going to sit here allll day.”
The 3-year-old has found the puzzles I store in the kids’ closet and throws the pieces of all three, together, across the living room floor.
“Man-to-man coverage,” my guy suggests. He takes the puzzle tot, I take the “unmovable boy” who now has found the bookcase in the hallway and asks, to my delight, “Read this one, Pammy!”
Six books later, the 4-year-old insists he wants to read all day.
“Let’s go to the playground,” I suggest.
“No! I want Llama Llama Time to Share again!”
In the meantime, Henry the dog has a puzzle piece in his ear, and the man-to-man defense is weakening.
We squeeze in a 15-minute trip to the pool and a few bites of peanut butter and jelly, but it’s close to nap time, when we promised the munchkins’ parents we’d bring them home.
The 4-year-old begs, “can’t we stay and reeeeeaaaaaaaadddddddddd?”
The 3-year-old insists: “I want my mommy!”
So we hustle to the car and begin the ride back.
Five minutes into the drive a sound as loud as 20 chalk pieces screeching on a board emits from the back seat. My guy and I jump so high our heads hit the car roof.
“What’s the matter?” I ask, turning around to check on the distressed 3-year-old.
“I WANT MY NAAAPPPPP!” he screams.
Huh. I thought parents begged children to nap, not the other way around.
The 4-year-old consoles his brother: “It’s okay, you can nap in the car.”
“NOOO!” his younger brother retorts. “I need my MOMMY, then I can NAP!”
A tense ride ensues, with a strangled sound coming from the 3-year-old’s side every so often: “Naaaaaappppppp!!!”
In a record 39.5 minutes, we deliver our charming grandchildren to their relieved parents.
“You’re late!” our son exclaims.
As I unbuckle the blonde-haired, sweet-as a-snowball 3-year-old from his seat, he strokes my face lightly.
“Pammy?” he says softly.
“Yes?”
“I love you.”
Ah, I’m a good grandmother, I sigh to myself, until the little one continues: “But I’m not coming to your house ever again.”
Defeated, I give him a light kiss with a chuckle and hand him off to his mother for a long afternoon’s nap.
On the way home, my guy drives over the speed limit. I gaze at him quizzically.
“I need my nap, NOW,” he exclaims.
Which only proves that little boys never truly grow up.
Hmmm, is it nap time?
The waves crest in and out, gray and blue, as the sun rises over the expanse of dawn-rose sand. In the NJ beach city I’m visiting, the sandy stretch is long and wide thanks to the humungous efforts of the state to save and preserve its beaches.
roughwighting 