Small Adventures: The Crescendo

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On Tuesday following Memorial Day, I “sat on” my daughter’s two angels. My daughter pressed me into service during an extraordinary confluence of circumstances. She was busy at work and the local jails and schools closed. I sketched the experience in my last post, Small Adventures I.

Now, let us fast forward to last Friday, the final day of the “Child Care Crisis,” as I call it and as seen on CNN.

My daughter agreed to deliver my charges early Friday morning. This was a big help, saving me from rising before dawn and driving forty-five minutes while sound asleep. Promptly at 0900, the back door swung open and the grandchildren, their possessions and mommy flooded through. In a few seconds, we were on our own and Mommy was laying rubber down my driveway.

“Good morning, children,” I said cheerfully. I was still rubbing sleep from my eyes, but I wanted to get off to a good start.

“We’re hungry! Would you fix us pancakes?” They spoke in a tone suitable for starving children in one of those loser countries. It is fair to note I brought this on myself. Months ago, I made pancakes for them using my secret recipe. They have not forgotten.

“Uh, I suppose. Have you not had breakfast?”

The two looking up at me were models for a Margaret Keane print. You know, the pictures of large-eyed children looking like they just learned their puppy died. It was clearly a ploy to take advantage of grandfather’s softhearted nature.

“Okay, you two sit at the table and I’ll make pancakes. “ Let us face it. I was surrounded.

The children retired to the kitchen table while I retrieved bacon and pancake mix. I covered the griddle with bacon and whipped up a bowl of my secret recipe.

The bacon had just begun sizzling when the backdoor opened once more. It was my son and his eldest who is two and change.

In 30 seconds, I acquired a third starving child who was willing to try a pancake. 20 minutes later, the crew followed me out the backdoor and down the terrace to the picnic table. Each of my arms carried carefully balanced plates with hot cakes and bacon. I was careful not to allow the syrup to slosh over the edge of the plate. Pouring syrup onto pancakes until they float is a favorite of the grandchildren.

The four of us enjoyed our syrupy bacon and pancakes al fresco. Chilled orange juice helped dissolve the sugar from our throats. After ten minutes, the flies became an issue, so I shooed the pests away. I have not seen a fly here in years. I guess they have been biding their time until the right moment and this was it.

The children ate every crumb and licked the syrup from their plates before we went inside.

Filled with sugary goodness, they were content to remain in the playroom, but only so long as I was with them. If one needed to visit the bathroom, the others would come with, waiting patiently outside the door until grandfather and grandchild emerged in a cloud of relief. This is full-on togetherness.

At play, the children sorted themselves out. The eldest (5) selected a suitcase of Legos. His little sister (3) chose Play Doh. The youngest played with tiny cars that are actually characters from the animated movie of the same name.

Me? I moved among the children, first finding a door for a Lego castle, then pressing a giraffe from Play Doh and finally yelling “Vrrooom!” as I pushed a little car toward the little guy.

By mid afternoon, grandfather was having sinking spells. I made excuses to check my emails, bring in the mail, brush my teeth and any other thing I could think of to enjoy a five-minute collapse.

I was considering running away from home when my son showed up and retrieved his boy.

An hour later, Mommy arrived. We fed the children frozen chicken parts and milk before packing them back into the car for the trip home.

Finally, the house was empty. Puzzles, cars, and Legos were scattered in the playroom. Flecks of color marked the Play Doh area. Storybooks covered every flat surface. The ‘fridge and pantry were decimated. Grandfather was a wreck.

Still, victory was mine. I had survived a full day with three sweet but deadly grandchildren. I cannot help wondering how mothers routinely survive decades of unrelenting devotion required to raise a child to early adulthood.

I was lucky to last the week.

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