Nudity, Noise, & Dangerous Toys

I have been yelling like a, well, a grumpy grandfather. It’s embarrassing really - yelling for quiet. But it’s necessary when you have a houseful of screaming kids.  I know my voice only added to the pandemonium, but I had to do something. The TV was blasting, an iPad was playing music, and a naked 3 year old was running thru the den like a mini streaker.  When you add shrieks from 2 other kids and barking dogs, there’s no way I could peacefully watch the ending of Top Gun. The cherry on the frustrating sundae came about when I get out of my chair to inquire about the nudity, and my bare foot stepped on a Barbie doll.  It felt like I had been stabbed with a Bowie Knife. 

This is what happens when three of my grandkids - who are all girls- spend the night with us.  Any time Rilynne, who’s 11, Eva, who’s 8, and Addy, who’s 3, get together, it’s like an all-girl version of Lord of the Flies. 

I asked for this. I raised 3 boys and I desperately wanted a little girl. So I guess the Good Lord decided he would make up for my loss by giving me four granddaughters. This is proof that God has a sense of humor.  

It didn’t take me long to figure out that I am not equipped to handle girls.  Don’t get me wrong, I love them dearly.  And the affection they bestow on me is fantastic. But, the drama... oh Lord, the drama. 

With three boys, it’s pretty basic - you tell them not to do something, threaten them, and they comply.  Or they sneak behind your back and do it anyway.  When they get caught, you punish them - and that’s it.  Not so with girls. There’s drama,  tears that come out of nowhere, and circular logic that is certain to torture a future husband in the years to come. 

Me: “Didn’t I tell you to go and get the mail?”

Her: “Yes, but it’s too cold outside.”

Me: “What do you mean cold?  It’s sixty five degrees!”

Her: “Well that’s cold to me.  I’ll get pneumonia. Why do you want me to get sick? I don’t want to go to the hospital. I hate shots!”

This is followed by sobs, tears, and gasps. I have no mechanism to deal with this. 

I digress. When I asked Addy why she stripped naked and ran around the house, she told me her bathing suit had chafed her, and she wanted to show the boo boo to her cousins. Ah, the innocence of youth. We don’t run around naked, I say. I suggested that she go back and put some pants on.  She nodded, and headed back into the bedroom.

Within seconds, my other two granddaughters were screaming in unison, “Noooo! Addy, stop!”

In an instant, Eva ran in the den, stood in front of me, and said with a great deal of exasperation, “Granddaddy, Addy just did it again.” I just shook my head.  I don’t think Tom Cruise had this much trouble shooting down enemy fighter jets. 

There was only one thing to do; admit defeat and call in reinforcements.  So I yelled to my wife,  “Carol, can you please go in there, put some medicine on the boo-boo on Addy’s, uh, problem, and make sure she has some clothes on?” It wasn’t so much a request as a plea. 

Within a few minutes order was restored. Addy had been treated and was finally fully clothed.  Rilynne and Eva began to color. Now I can actually rewind Top Gun and watch young Tom Cruise kick some Russian butt.  The craziness is over for now.  

Soon, it’s time for them to go, and in an instant they were all swept away from my house.  I looked around and saw carnage everywhere. The den looked like their toy box exploded. The kitchen table was a menagerie of spoons, half eaten PBJs, and glasses of chocolate milk. I found a kiddie yogurt container someone sneaked into our bedroom.

   

And then I noticed something else - silence.  Empty, sad, deafening silence.  

Hmmm. I wonder when they’re coming back over again?