Today the Mouser turns three.
He loves to make faces.
He laughs long and hard over the stumbles and tumbles of others on America’s Funniest Videos.
He wants to grow up to be Lightning McQueen.
He participates in our games, whether invited or not.
He loves his grandma.
Pretty good faces indeed.
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“Best day ever!” announced Coco. “Ryan, my nursery manager, suggested we hold a Cake and Denim Day on February 10th.” That was back on the last day of the January. Before I could ask what cake and denim had in common, she was tugging at her layers of apparel. “I’m wearing a denim shirt, jeans, and a denim jacket. I love denim.” Okay, that took care of both parts. I knew she loved. Now it all made sense, February 10th would be a day of love.
“We’re going to have cupcakes, and layer cake, and sheet cakes. We’re going to spend the whole day eating cake.”
“You’ll be full after three slices,” I said. She’d been working out a lot lately and was looking svelte.
“Oh, yes, we will,” she insisted. “We’ll have ham.” Now I was really lost. “Ham is the sugar antidote.”
“Says who?” I asked.
“Everyone knows that,” she answered matter-of-factly. It’s a known chemical fact. The salty ham breaks down the sugar. Besides we’re going to take lots of walks around the nursery.” It would take more than a few leisurely strolls around the nursery.
So around noon today, I carried in Coco’s favorite coconut cream cake. “Where do I put this?” Ryan pointed over to the picnic table. It was full. “Who else contributed cakes?”
“Just Colleen and I,” he admitted. There was at least $300 worth of cakes on the table.
It would most likely take more than her spin class, her belly dancing class, and her hot yoga class to counteract the amount of cake she had sitting at her picnic table.
Etiquette and concern about cooties were pretty much gone. Ryan handed me my own personal fork and told me to go for it. He and Colleen took a big bite of the coconut cake. “Still my favorite,” she announced.
“You’re going to have to throw away a lot of cake,” I observed.
“Heck no,” she said. “I’m taking it home and surrounding my bed with it. That way I can wake up during the night and not even have to get up. I can just reach over and stuff my
face any piece I want.” The idea of it was making me sick. “I’ve got to get more ham if I’m going to go until 10:30 tomorrow morning.”
“So it’s a full 24 hour holiday?” I asked.
“Yep.”
I wonder how soon before she’s ready for Organza and Pie Day?
My amusement indicators – the Bug, the Worm, and the Mouse – have made my life fuller. How do I know? Because they have been out of town in Orlando, Florida, maximizing their own amusement quotient and minimizing mine.
No more walking in sugar spillage while driving a cookie bakeoff; no more going out to eat at Denny’s where bacon is the main item on the menu; no more bedtime stories of kittens and puppies; no more hugs that only reach around my knees; no more bad jokes, magic tricks, and falling sleep in my arms.
Instead I am forced to look at these very cute reminders…
And the very cute note I found from the Worm, “Can I live in this house? Why? darn 
(me crying).”
Until Monday might, this is, when the gang return. After nearly two weeks of sold Disney, it might not be pretty for the GAP.
“We leave on Friday for Disney World,” said the GAP. They’d been planning the vacation for three years. “Do you want to come over and see the kids before we leave?”
“Of course,” I answered. There would be so much I would miss out on in ten days.
“Yaya come with us,” said the Mouse. Constant parks, trust me, not for the amusement of grandparents who had done Disneyland, Knott’s Berry Farm, 6 Flags Magic Mountain, and SeaWorld a gazillion times, was not going to happen.
“Hey, Bug,” I said, “I heard you did your minute report today teaching the class how to do magic and you got 16 out of 16. Can you do it again for me?”
“Sure,” he said. He grabbed his blue pedestal and red ball. He took the bed ball from the pedestal and placed it in his pocket. “Clap once,” he instructed. The Worm obeyed and clapped once. He lifted the cap and the ball was gone. “Now clap twice,” he said. Again the Worm obeyed. He lifted the cap and the ball magically appeared. He took another thirty seconds to explain how the magic happened.
When they get back from their trip, I’ll clap twice and maybe they’ll be able to share with me the magic of the Magic Kingdom.
Apparently there are more groupings of men than just married and available, Coco informed me the other night when we went out to see the Life of Pi. Incidentally we didn’t
realize it was 3D. It was our first experience. I got worried when they previewed Jurassic Park in 3D. “I hope I don’t scream,” I told her. Twenty years ago when I saw Jurassic Park, I let out a blood curdling yell in the theater when the guy’s arm fell off unexpectedly. Is your arm falling off anything you ever expect?
“I hope you don’t too,” she answered. Apparently she remembered that scream, not because she was there, but because later in the day one of her friend’s parent had commented about the lady in the movie house who shrieked.
Okay, back to the groupings of men. There’s the “meathead” guys – good looking, but not too cerebral. There’s one she’s “hanging” with now, who is “dirty hot,” but still a meathead. Then she thought a minute, confused. “And he even goes to museums.”
There’s her “big bear” guy. At first I thought, her snow trip friend, but “big bears” are evidently big hairy gay guys. The little hairy ones are some other kind of animal – maybe like possums. She told me but I don’t remember. Obviously, not all gay guys are into decorating.
She’s “hanging” with another platonic friend guy. What I asked what group he belonged to, she said, the “pain in the butt” group. She toasted a slice of homemade bread he’d brought over. She gasped. “What’s the matter?” I asked.
“He left a stupid fake cockroach on the sink,” she answered back after composing herself. Now I know why he’s in the “pain in the butt” group.
I’m really bad at all this new terminology.
Today I stopped at the GAP’s for a few minutes. The little Mouse heard me should out, “Yaya’s here,” and swung the door open. I guess there’s one more group of guys. He was
stark naked.
“I’m trying to potty train him,” said the GAP.
He gave me a hug. It’s been a long time since I’ve been hugged by a naked guy – at least in the daylight.
When I gave birth to my children, I immediately felt a “change of heart” and gained a “testimony” of unconditional love. As a single mom (though it probably wouldn’t have been much different in a family with both parents), this unconditional love was tried over and over. My kids had spent nights thinking of ways to make me question this testimony, but I held on tight working to keep this love glowing. It was a struggle every day. I exercised “every particle of faith,” while they “experimented upon” and “tried my faith.” Then one day I was a grandma. Now I was truly converted to this thing called unconditional love. I now had no more desire to run away to a faraway country. I have no more desire to get even. I have patience, and love abounding for these children, who try their workings on their parents every bit as much as my own children did on me.
Just yesterday, the GAP had come over to spend the day with me. Two little hooligans rushed over to me with big bear hugs. The third, the youngest, marched into my heart, his knees pulled high with each step. “Hup, two, lee, four,” he said over and over. The Bug and the Mouse had selected a cookie to bake, “I want to help,” said the almost three-year-old Mouse. I helped him fill a cup of flour. We poured it into the mixing bowl. “I do it myself,” he demanded. Before I could stop him, there was another cup in the mixing bowl. I guess I could double the recipe.
The Worm knocked the egg against the edge of the bowl. She was getting pretty good at cracking eggs. The Bug stopped by occasionally to pitch in, mostly to lick beaters. Like most men, he was more into sampling than cooking. Soon there was the smell of snickerdoodles and sugar cookies in the oven.
“Uncle Brandon sent me this new game,” I told the Bug, holding up the box for Long Shot. “Why don’t you set it up and read the directions so you can tell us how to play.”
“I’d love to do that,” he said.
While the cookies were baking, the GAP and I prepared a dinner of favorite comfort foods – grilled cheese sandwiches made from Challah bread and English cheddar and smoked Provolone (yummy) and soup, and strawberry lemonade.
From the kitchen, I heard the Worm say, “You’re not surprising me one bit!” There was a tad of irritation in her voice. I walked into the dining room where the Bug was setting up ten little tiny horses on a racetrack. The Worm was directing this stern message to the Mouse.
Just as I walked in, he raised his little arms in the air and answered back, “Surprise!” It
sounded more like “Supplies.” I thought we were going to have to pick the GAP, who was now in hysterics, up off the floor.
The Mouse was partnered with me for the game – the goal being to buy, bet on and move horses around the track. He wanted to buy #1. Soon his horse was winning. Then all of a sudden, #1 was no longer moving at all. “You horse isn’t moving,” said Couponman to the Mouse.
“Yaya,” he asked, tapping me on the shoulder, “is my horse dead?”
Definitely the horse was moving slower than three children high on sugar. “Sit down,” said the GAP to the Worm. “Pay attention to your turn,” the GAP told the Bug.
“You don’t have one ounce of patience for me,” said the Bug. Wait until you have children, I wanted to tell him, your mom will be fine.
It was a long shot that my horse would win, but the Mouse and I did. It was even a longer shot that three little hyper bodies would not drive me crazy, but they did not.
Today was my big day – really big number day. I turned 65. In the back of my mind, I heard Roy Clark singing, ?? Yesterday when I was young, the taste of life was sweet as rain upon my tongue.?? 64 sounds so much younger.
I wanted to do something really memorable, but nothing came to mind. I’m too young to skydive (I am old enough to know better) and too old to do a somersault. Last somersault (two years ago to be exact) left the room spinning long after my body had come to an abrupt stop. So instead I got up in the morning and climbed into the bathtub. Couponman walked in with the phone and handed it to me. “I know exactly what I was doing sixty-five years ago,” said the familiar voice. “I remember it like it was yesterday.” In case some of you have problems with math, sixty-five years ago is NOT yesterday. “You were the first grandchild and we all wanted to hold you,” Aunt Piggy went on. “When we’d go shopping, we’d all fight over you.” I felt special. “And I wanted to tell you how much we loved Brandon’s visit a couple of weeks ago. He’s such a polite and handsome young man. What’s wrong with these dumb girls (meaning the ones who had not snatched him up)?” I smiled. I heard my mom’s voice saying the same things. Every birthday she’d called at the crack of dawn, starting with, “I know what I was doing thirty-two or fifty years (whatever the year) ago.” She’d felt the same way about Hot Wheelz, too. She could never tell him no with that winning smile.
The phone rang again while I was still in the tub. “Happy birthday, Mom,” said Hot Wheelz. “What are you going to do today?” I hated telling him I hadn’t thought of anything wonderfully memorable to do. But we immediately got on the topic of his welding program at SLCC (pronounced SLICK) college. “I love it,” he said. He talked about the teacher that used his weld during the “first week” of instruction as a demo for the class to show a good weld was done, and going to a Welders of America Association meeting this past week. I’m assuming the members were not spring chickens, since one of them had been a member more years than Hot Wheelz has accumulated. Today was quickly getting better, because every mother knows there’s no greater gift than to hear success from one of her children.
My brother Kelly came over to visit for a bit. Then I did something I never do. I logged onto Facebook. There’s now something called My Timeline. I honestly have no idea what that is or means, but there were some nice messages there to help me celebrate.
The GAP and her little gaps came over in the afternoon. The Worm had drawn a card with her, the Bug, and me. “Hey, where am?” said the youngest Mouse, as the Worm pointed to each person on the card.
“I couldn’t fit him on the card,” said the Worm.
“Squeeze him in right here,” I said, pointing to the edge of the paper. The Mouse held up his arms for me to pick him up.
While she was superimposing the Mouse on the card, my sister Holly called to wish me a happy birthday.
“Grandma,” said the Bug, “read your emails. I sent you one.” How could he have an email account already? It was signed “Sincerely, Logan” and included his last name. But it did have a “P.S. I love you.”
The last one to sign in was Coco. She called and wished me a happy birthday. Four for four. Usually I have a straggler. Plus all the other well wishes.
Here I thought I was going to have a boring day and it ended up being one of my best!!
So after last year’s expensive family vacation, we our plans set on a lesser expensive trip for this year. Perhaps an overnight stay at Motel 6 down the road playing Old Maid.
Instead this email comes last week about the law firm where I work. They’ve taken possession of a 5,000 square foot, five bedroom, six bath, villa in Cabo San Lucas for payment of a client’s bad debt. They are renting it out for a great deal to employees. I half-jokingly brought it up to the GAP. “That sounds great,” she said excitedly. “We’ll never get another chance to stay at a villa. I’ll look up flights.”
A couple of hours later, a disillusioned travel agent, called. “The flights are so expensive,”
the GAP said, “and it’s only a two-hour flight. But if we drive to San Diego and fly out from there, it reduces the price by over a hundred dollars per person.”
“That might work,” I answered back.
“But they charge fifty dollars to check a bag,” she said. “They only allow you to carry on a
16 by 14 inch bag on free.”
“We’re going to the beach,” I thought out load. “Maybe we could fit everything in that.”
“Mom, you’re on crack…” Those were familiar words. “Do you know how big 16 by 14 is?” I held up a piece of paper. It looked really small, not to mention thin. Even adding another five inches wouldn’t make it that big. “Plus we have to take our snorkel gear to save money.”
“Do they say you can’t wear your flippers on the plane?” I asked. Suddenly we both broke into laughter picturing the family getting on the plane in full snorkel gear. It just might work.
“Make a list for me, and I’ll bring my tools and see how many items I can whittle away,” Hot Wheelz had said before coming home for the holidays.
I was excited. As a result, the wood floors are less creaky. The missing tile in the laundry room has been replaced. He had installed a new back door on a trip over a year ago, and I never got around to replacing the tiles he had to remove. There is caulking around the
kitchen sink. There’s caulking around the baseboard. There’s a new T-threshold of wood between the hall and the laundry room. And number one on the list, the night before he drove back to Utah, he replaced a new rubber gasket on the garbage disposal.
The next day, after he left, of course, we found a puddle under the sink. Poor Couponman, he was forced to wash the dishes by hand. I guess that task motivated him to find the leak – at the junction where the garbage disposal fits onto to sink.
I called Daryl, my all around handyman friend. He’s got me out of more than one bind
before. “The new gasket is too thick,” he reported. “The clamp doesn’t allow it to seal properly.” An hour of heavy-duty effort did not resolve the problem. “You’re going to need to buy a new garbage disposal tomorrow. It’ll cost you around $80.” The disconnected parts rest all over the floor.
Mind you – I had a perfectly good garbage disposal one week ago. The only problem was that it had a chewed up rubber gasket. So Couponman picks up the new garbage disposal. Daryl comes back the next day. He unwraps the box. “Wow, you managed to find the only garbage disposal missing a power cord.” So Daryl painstakingly removes the power cord from the gasket-less old disposal and attaches it to the new one. Only the hoses don’t match up under the sink. So off he and Couponman go to find some new connections – another $5.
Three hours later, we have a new garbage disposal, new gasket, and old power cord in place. “Let us take you and Sue out to dinner,” we insist. (Good time and good food had by all.)
The next day, Couponman excited to be able to use the dishwasher again, does a load of dishes. Suddenly a solid stream of water, like from a fire hose shoots across the kitchen from the release valve when the dishwasher is turned on. Couponman is back to dishes by hand.
The next day, Daryl comes back over. He takes out the instructions for the first time – you know the man-thing. “Step 15: Remove the plug from the unit before attaching the dishwasher,” he reads out loud. “Guess I skipped that one.” He removes the garbage disposal once again and pops out the plug. Now everything is back and working.
I had no idea new gaskets were so expensive. Thanks Hot Wheelz. I’ll take it out of your inheritance. 
Last night we took our grandkids to see the live How to Train Your Dragon Spectacular at the Honda Center in Anaheim. I was soon to find out that the night was more about training a grandma than training a dragon.
Here are some steps you might want to follow. However, you might have better results if you skip step #2.
Yep, they trained me well enough to know we’ll do this again and again. Grandkids and spectaculars are, well, awesome.
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