By Dixie I never had children. I’m one of those peculiar old cat and dog ladies who never experienced baby hunger and didn’t have a child. I have not and will not experience being an actual bio-parent, but if I do, you have my permission to sell my story to Ripley’s Believe it or Not. Cackle cackle.
Regardless, I like being around young un’s and being a 61 year old newlywed, I have several new step grands. I enjoy their enthusiasm, innocence and wonder at anything new and I look forward to their visits. I love to plan mani-pedis, decorate their girly-girl room with pink sparkly stuff, buy weird candy and random useless trinkets from the Dollar Tree. But…because of my coming into this rodeo late in life, extreme lack of experience and overall lack of discipline skills, y’all Mama’s got to help me understand how to keep them healthy and alive. Help. Me.
A dog is something I understand. I can throw them in the bathtub, cut the hair around their eyes and hiney, give them worm and flea meds, smoochy their little faces, brush and feed them, but a small human is very different. They don’t bark (usually) which is good.
Young un’s brains work differently. They move, think and say everything quickly. They jump into puddles of water, not around. They explore before thinking about bruised shins and scraped knees. Their words come quickly and often and are both sweet (I like you) and humbling (think nose hairs). Their quick brains plus technology sense are dangerous to your wallet. Give a 10 year old a smartphone and two minutes later UberEATS is in the driveway with pizza and chicky nuggets.
Kids live on chicken nuggets, the cheese topping off pizza, and sugary snacks dyed bright red or blue. One of my nephews ate microwaved Bagel Bites for two years for breakfast, lunch and dinner. Somehow he lived and is a healthy 33 year old now. I take 12 supplements a day, and at least try to watch the carbs and fats. I walk my IWatch ordered 10,000 steps a few times a week. My last check up, my doctor told me I have borderline high cholesterol. I cannot look at the kid’s candy or pizza without going up a pant size. Sigh.
Kids get sick quickly and get well faster. Sickness, especially projectile vomiting, is on a strict schedule of between 2 am and 4 am. When it happened to one of the grands, I had no idea what to do, so I asked what her mama usually does. I texted her mama too to make sure.
I figured while I waited for an answer, I would look for any non-expired child friendly meds. After tearing the house up, I had nothing. I Googled for any store that might be open at 3am. I had nothing.
Panicking, I went to check on the grands and they had tucked themselves in and were fast asleep looking like healthy, teensy angels. I briefly wondered if I dreamt the whole sickness thing like the last episode of Dallas, but the pile of towels on the floor said nope.
I texted her Mama an “oops, never mind, sorry”.
I spent the rest of the night feeling guilty for my ignorance and lack of preparation and tried to sleep with one eye and ear open to any hint of sickness sounds.
Three hours later they were eating pancakes in syrup soup, swilling chocolate milk and feeding the dogs bacon. I hid under the covers, thinking about how nice Pop was to make breakfast and maybe I should rescue him. I thought about the Toby Keith song “I Ain’t as Good as I Once Was”. Didn’t understand it back when it was a hit but do now. By the time I looked up the video on my phone (muted) and decided what body part would hurt least before moving, the kids had already finished breakfast and were jumping on the bed upstairs.
They were singing some Taylor Swift song very loudly and I was bone tired. I looked to see where the noise was coming from and saw my youngest grand, dainty and waiflike, dangling off the staircase on the outside of the rail 6 feet off the ground. Singing and using a rolled up pancake as a microphone.
My problem is I never developed Mama eyes in the back of my head.
Mercy. When do you Mama’s sleep? Never?
Many years ago I babysat my nephews. They were all about some Ninja Turtles and a disgusting stomach thingy named Shredder and Michelangelo the Turtle who lived in a sewer. I remember hiding knives and forks because apparently turtles (or stomachs) liked running with sharp objects with the pointy end towards their faces (or stomachs). Ugh. It was a long night.
Good news is by the absolute grace of God they didn’t die, but I didn’t exactly volunteer again to babysit. The few times their parents were desperate enough to ask me I made sure to follow my motto: “Sugar ‘em up and send ‘em home”. If they didn’t understand the passive aggressive power in that I would send Legos and drum kits. Mama didn’t raise no fool. Cackle cackle.
Nothing has changed except the length of our recovery.
As soon as the grands left, Grandpa Mark and I collapsed into an open mouthed, drooling sleep. We woke at 8PM, ate cold leftover pizza, and determined to stay awake. We stoically sat on the couch with only competition keeping us awake. We played cat and mouse getting up and down to brush teeth, put on jammies and let dogs out. We mutually conceded defeat around 9:30.
We told each other that we would go to the gym the next day. Definitely. It would be a grueling but necessary workout.
We woke up after 9 the next morning. Grandpa Mark had Covid.
We did not make it to the gym.
Grands: 1
Martin Grandparents: 0
We are not strong people against the energy of the grands. But we love ‘em!!! (and Grandpa Mark is better now!)
