I am leaving my husband. Relax. I’ll only be gone for 10 days. My son and his wife are going to Hawaii. Grandma (hello, that is me) will be heading to Houston to take care of the grandkids. While this all sounds routine and mundane on paper, my mind is spiraling out of control with all the things that could go wrong. The Herculean efforts it will require to pull this endeavor off have me waking up during the night in a cold sweat. You see, I may be able to do difficult things, but I really excel at making super simple things very, very hard. There’s a meme out there in the world. How many times have I typed that line? It goes something like this. “Don’t invite me nowhere with complicated parking cuz I’m gonna circle around and go home.” Forgive the grammar. “It do be like that sometimes.” That’s another meme. Still, I am that person. Busy city? I will do a mock drive, on a different day, at the same time. Gotta be somewhere during rush hour on a Monday? I will do a practice run the Monday prior at the same time. Nighttime arrival expectation? You guessed it. I will drive there at night and, probably, also in daylight to memorize all the nuances. I don’t like unfamiliar traffic patterns, unexpectedly narrow parking spaces, surprise oneway streets, or any routes requiring NASCAR-esque sudden maneuvers. I hate crowds. I despise feigning calmness and asking directions when my insides are screaming in terror. Only children unite. I just don’t people well. I have crafted a beautifully simple life bereft of all these situations. But, what’s a grandma to do when the littles need her? It’s time to cowgirl up and get to Houston where I shall drive to unfamiliar schools with mysteriously unknown pick-up lines and strange parking spaces.
There was a time when I asked my own mother to jump through similar hoops. I recall a 90s era vacation where my mom agreed to house sit and watch the kids. There was a storm and a door that didn’t lock all the way. The result was a tripped security alarm and a backyard full of very muddy dogs that wound up on my bed, dripping on an heirloom quilt. My mother kept my children safe, washed my bedding several times, scraped dog shaken mud bits from my white walls, and even bathed the animals – all in one day. There was another trip where she was asked to go along as a pseudo nanny so we could go and do parent things sans kiddos. That was a ski trip. My mother wound up chasing my daughter through the ski rental area in her Roper boots, slipping down onto her rear end, and sliding a quarter mile into the entrance to the ski school. She, too, had to learn the complicated distinctions of which school lane was for drop off versus pick up, and when you were expected to only go counterclockwise. She made mistakes. Who could ever forget the time her standard F-150 ground out in 1st gear as she accidentally peppered students and teachers alike in gravel? Then, there was the time the kids stayed at her house while I took a much-needed girl’s trip, for just a couple of days. I warned her to stay home, but what’s a granny to do when you run out of Fruity Pebbles? There they went on a Walmart run. The youngest wore her pajamas. The middle boy wore a giant t-shirt of hers that touched the floor. The oldest dressed himself: shorts, cowboy boots, and a huge gold medallion he lifted from her jewelry box. By aisle three, the boys were running at top speed and sliding great distances on their knees. My daughter saw her grandmother’s worried expression. “Don’t worry, Grandma Marsha, just do what Mommy and I do. We pretend we don’t know who they are.” I have found that children in a conundrum are generally honest.
My car is loaded with Valentine’s gifts and my own 10-day collection of middle aged Garanimals – leggings and t-shirts in a mix and match fashion. I’m eager to see them, those two little rapscallions of mine. I have grand visions of Easy Bake Oven cook-offs and craft nights and bedtime stories read aloud. The reality will likely be quite different. Children push our limits. They are supposed to. That is how they learn how to do life. There will be dinnertime conflicts, bedtime conflicts, homework conflicts, and toothbrushing conflicts. I will do my practice runs to their respective schools. I will figure out, one way or the other, what lane to turn into and where not to park. The real question remains. Can my husband hold down the 5-animal fort without me here? Can he keep the litter box clean, and the epilepsy meds filled and the treat jar bountiful? Will he remember to check on the feral cats I love so dearly while making sure the toot head dachshund doesn’t get into the muddy spot in the backyard? It’s all going to be ok. At least I won’t be throwing gravel in the pickup line.
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