Friday evening and daughter #1, the GAP, had a fever and no voice. That translates to sleepover at grandma’s for the six- and four-year-old grandkids.
Being first time garage sale vendors excited them. They gathered some stuffed animals that had lost favor with high hopes of becoming nouveau riche. The Bug was going for big bucks — said he was going to charge 25¢, or maybe 50¢. I wasn’t sure the yellow duck with an appendectomy scar could fetch that much. The Bug penned a sign Garage Sale! Came for Fame! with red permanent marker on a flattened cardboard box. I had no idea what it meant, but if anything can draw customers it’s two exclamation points. He held it near the curb and waved it like a giant going-out-of-business arrow. The Worm squeezed the on switch on a Christmas penguin that twirled in a circle and sang a carole. She wasn’t willing to part with the toy, but thought it would attract buyers.
Soon both grandkids lost interest and opted for Saturday morning cartoons. And I packed up the car with trash-to-treasures leftovers all before nine in the morning. “Grandpa, can we go to Denny’s.” Grandpa’s a sucker for the Worm when she tilts her head. Her blond ringlets flop over her eyes like Veronica Lake’s.
The billboard of the daily specials at the restaurant publicized a $4 pancake special. The Worm is just starting to read. She sounded out each word phonetically, “Yippee,” she said, “I want all you can eat pancakes.”
“How many do you think you can eat?” I asked.
“I’m really hungry,” the wiggly girl, no heavier than a fly, replied. “I want to eat two pancakes!” Two? Two wouldn’t even fill my cavity. I was thinking more like ordering 42 for myself. Instead, I ordered the short stack for $2.
The Bug carried a book into the restaurant. He’s reads fifth grade level and is only in first grade. I’m not convinced that precocious is an advantage. But even gifted kids h.ave their limitations. His mom reads to him every night, from one of those War and Peace size fantasy novels. Just because he sounds out the words doesn’t mean he comprehends them. Last year while the Bug and his mom read one of the A to Z Mystery books, he told his dad he was reading about a little boy who got kidnapped by his honker. My daughter called me in hysterics. Seems like the honker was really the boy’s evil tutor. Tooter = Honker, get it?
“Should we take them to the c-a-r-o-u-s-a-l?” I spit the letters out quickly for my husband like a rapid fire automatic. “I wanna go on a merry-go-round,” the Bug answered. My husband was still mouthing the letters trying to figure out what I spelled.
Years before after a trip to Disneyland, I’d asked my grandson, “Did you go on a white horse?”
“No, Grandma” he corrected and looked at me like I was clueless, “it was a dead horse.” Time goes quickly. Now he spells carousal faster than Grandpa.
The afternoon was a blur. It reminded me of when Coco was a toddler. She ran round and round until she collapsed. Her four-year-old big sister, the GAP, had looked at the heap, then me. “She ran out of gas,” she announced. I had, too.
And I still had my niece’s 27th birthday to attend. On the way there, the Bug fell asleep in the back seat. The Worm inquired, “What do you think will be in the backyard?”
My eyes blinked and got stuck shut. “I think maybe hula hoops,” she mused. I hadn’t responded fast enough for her.
When we arrived, we walked in the back yard. Hula hoops. Who would have guessed?
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Cute story Penny. I’m enjoying your blog a lot. Keep up the ponderings! ; )Michael Stoeckli