The Hallelujah Chorus never sounded better. Two loud simultaneous hoots of, “Grandma,” while the Mouse’s raised two arms to the heavens, met me at the door when I walked ito their home unannounced.
I picked up the five-year-old Worm and hugged her while an impatient seventeen-month-old Mouse tugged at my pant leg.
“Grandma,” said the Bug, “come see what I made in my Lego workshop.”
“Did you like the class?” I asked. The Lego engineering workshop was his birthday gift for turning eight.
“It was awesome,” he answered. He held up something that looked like a bunch of colorful blocks attached to one another in random order with a mini-propeller on top. I had no idea what it was.
“Wow, that’s great.”
“Grandma, do you know the difference between a motor and an engine,” he asked.
“No.”
“Well, a motor runs on electricity and an engine runs on gasoline,” he answered and did that little smug laugh. “I’m smarter than you he said.” He didn’t have to rub it in.
“Don’t worry. I didn’t know either,” called the GAP from the other room.
The Worm handed me a tongue depressor with a circle of brown construction paper glued on the end with the word “Grandma” written on it. “You raise it when you want to answer a question,” she said. Since I didn’t fair too well on the engine/motor question, I figured I wouldn’t get much use out of my permission stick.
And then when it was time to go, just like when I arrived, there were screams and hollers, not to mention the tears. The Worm moved a chair in front of the front door and sat down on it. “You have to unlock the door, move me and the chair away before you can leave,” she instructed.
It was even harder than that, I was still holding the silent little Mouse. I walked over to her, sat the Mouse on her lap and scooted the chair aside with all its occupants. The GAP picked up the Mouse who was already crying and fighting to get back to me. The Worm ran to the door and braced herself against it. I tickled under her arm, but apparently my nails snagged her skin. “You hurt me,” she cried cupping her underarm.
“What can I do to make it better?” I asked, over the clamor. “I know. I’ll kiss your pit.” I lifted her arm and kissed it underneath. “Now my lips stink,” I said, pursing them. She began laughing. The Mouse did not. As I walked out the door to leave, he was down on his knees with his head buried in his hands.
Oh, it’s wonderful to feel like a princess.
Related posts:
- Letting go, almost
- What’s in a name?
- A winter’s day in California with grandkids
- Leave them alone
- Naked and wet
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Isn’t it wonderful to be so loved! You aren’t a princess – you are a Queen!