I’m a sixty-eight-year-old man, who loves calm. One of the things I’ve told Chris is that I must go someplace where there’s ocean and beach at least every two years. (Chris, formally Christene, spelled with one “I”, is my wife, whom I will informally refer to from time to time from this point forward.) Although I love my home state of Arkansas, being land locked has some disadvantages. There’s just something about ocean breezes, waves lapping against the shore and dodging the poop of sea birds floating down from above that’s soothing.
Man, do I love calm! Then came this afternoon. Chris, with my unnecessary consent, accepted a request from our son to babysit two of his offspring for a couple of months. How could I not consent? Millennials are having a hard time making ends meet these days. I come from a generation where keeping the grandkids mean watching them occasionally to allow their parents time for a date night. We all know that a few hours now and then are enough time to spoil those little darlings something terrible.
Then came this afternoon. Chris had to visit her hair dressers. I know that the place women go to have their hair reshaped operates on a different representation of time than men can comprehend. Two hours regular time equals a half a day or more. The little darlings are supposed to touch down at our house this afternoon to do what they do best, wear papa out. I honestly feel that they come, see and conquer, laying waste to their grandparents abode. After they leave, there’s a need to do spot-house cleaning. Sippy cups just don’t seem to hold their contents very well while a two-year-old maneuvers around furniture, in and out of nooks and crannies on a foot-powered vehicle Fred Flintstone would love.
While Chris was at the hair dressers, the little grand darlings arrived. The doorbell rang, rang again and again. My two-year old grandson is evidently destined to be a doorbell tester when he grows up. The dog went crazy, rushing to the door to give her customary greeting. Neither my grandson or his two-teeth-at the-bottom sister were near needing a nap. Of course, I needed one. After all, that’s what sixty-eight-year-old men do right…watch TV, think about honey-do lists and nap?
One thing I always try to do is to make sure one of them is napping while the other one is actively exploring our home. This strategy didn’t work that well this afternoon. As I awkwardly tried to juggle fixing a bottle for the sister, figure out what the two-year-old was trying to say to me, and shoo the dog away as she tried to get me to play with one of her toys, I had an epiphany: PANDORA! These modern-day televisions have all kinds of stuff on them. I’m a lover of jazz, so I punched the on-demand button on the remote and scrolled to PANDORA. I’ve been listening to PANDORA on my iPhone for years. I have a jazz station already programmed.
Then came this afternoon: grand darlings, Shih Tzu and jazz. Thank God for His unending ability to maintain my sustainability as a sixty-eight-year-old papa! I just love them grand darlings.! I love jazz, too. Oh, Chris came home later: Nice hair!
I’m old and blessed…hope you will be too.