I answered my phone this morning.
“Meemaw, are you all better yet?” inquired the anxious voice of my oldest grandson, a strapping 4-year-old lad.
“I’m still a little bit sick”, I cautiously replied.
“Well, can I come over anyway?” It seems that mommy had administered a well-deserved spanking to her oldest son, and grandson thinks that it might be a good idea to get out of Dodge for awhile.
“Yes, you can come over and spend the night”, I answered.
The question reminded me of a kindergarten student earlier this week on the playground who asked me “Is your neck still sick?” when he heard my croaking, breaking laryngitis-stricken voice. He then proceeded to tell me the story of a relative that had sustained a neck injury, and then “they put him in a coffin, and stuck him in the ground, and dumped dirt on him, and then he changed into an angel and is flying all around heaven.” I assured him that, although my neck was still sick, I hadn’t been fitted for wings just yet.
Diets officially go out the window when grandchildren come to visit. I have all the fixings for caramel apples and we’ll dip pretzels into melted chocolate, too. Party time!
Little boys were still running around the house on a (probably) sugar-induced high this evening at 10 p.m. I told Mommy that I thought it was waaaaaaay past their bedtime.
“They were up until way late last night, Mom, but it doesn’t matter how much I spank Jacob, he just screams and screams and refuses to go to bed, and wakes Dylan up, and then he’s screaming too, and he’s cutting molars as well. It’s terrible!”
“Come here, Dylan!” I plucked him out of his Mommy’s arms as he knew what that tone of voice meant and was clinging to Mommy for dear life. “It is time for you to go to sleep!”
He started to cry as I carried him out. “Uh uh, Meemaw doesn’t want to hear any of that nonsense. Lay down and go to sleep now.” I gave him his sleep kitty and patted him on the back. He glared up balefully at me from the pallet on the floor, but did not offer to get up. I walked out of the room.
Jacob was very happy little brother was in bed, because now he had Meemaw’s undivided attention. “Meemaw, I want some bunny milk!” (Nestle’s Quik.)
“Yes, I’ll make your bunny milk, and then it is time for you to go to bed, too, young man.” He tried fluttering his eyelashes at me and forcing out tears, but Meemaw just looked at him, and he gave it up as a lost effort. After all, Meemaw is a higher authority than even Mommy.
I tucked Jacob in without incident, and Dylan sat up. I pointed at the pallet, and he lay back down. After some giggling, I went back in and sat on the pallet between them, at which point they surrendered to the inevitable, closed their eyes, and went to sleep. I never raised my voice, and I never offered any violence to their small persons.
Mommy is exhausted and went to bed shortly after the boys went to sleep. I hope she gets a good night’s sleep, but I’m going to snooze nearby in the La-Z-Boy in case I hear a little voice start to cry in the wee hours of the morning.