Sandra and I usually do not do New Year’s resolutions. Most of the time, resolutions become either extended lies – or painful reminders of failure.
However, given the frequency that we seem to get ourselves in trouble with the parents of our grandchildren, we have decided to make public this year’s sole resolution:
During 2013, we will strive to avoid teaching our grandchildren words, phrases, and behaviors that come back to haunt us.
Our first experience with this problem came when Jaxen was just a wee one. Mama Lydia had stepped to the bathroom at a Bojangles, so Sandra took the opportunity to entertain Jaxen with one of her not-so-magic tricks.
She tore a straw paper into dozens of little pieces and then dropped them on the table from about 18 to 20 inches, thereby producing the illusion of snow. She never even uttered a magic word.
She quickly gathered the infant shards for another try. About the time she had raised them to the appropriate height and began dropping them so they could float through the air, Lydia returned and caught her.
“Mama, don’t teach him that. I’ll be picking up tiny pieces of straw paper on every trip to Bojangles,” Lydia complained. Considering the number of Bo Times she and Jaxen experienced, I could see her point. I envisioned a blizzard of tiny straw paper-lets.
Sandra has been castigated on all fronts for showing the kids how to take a straw paper off so it crumples. Then, by adding a single drop of liquid, the paper magically becomes a living, worm-like creature. I supposed seven of our 11 grandkids have made the infamous straw-paper worms.
“Mama, the kids are dripping water all over the place trying to make their worms come to life.”
I do not have time to discuss her lessons in the malleable properties of metal spoons other than to note that whenever she goes to Mama Sara’s, Sandra still gets the bent spoon that never returned to its original shape.
Alex spent a few sick days with me. He seemed to have the poops quite a bit, so I jokingly knighted him “Little Prince Poopy-Head.” Little did I know he would go to daycare a couple of days later and bestow that accolade on one of his daycare buddies.
“Thanks a lot, Poppy,” Mama Jimmi chided across the phone line. “You got my son in trouble at daycare today.” The fact I was nowhere near daycare did not matter. I suffered from guilt by verbal association.
Abby visited with us, so I made her one of my favorite quick snacks – the peanut butter fold-over. A peanut butter fold-over is one slice of bread covered with peanut butter (on one side), and then folded in half. I made Abby a peanut butter and jelly fold-over.
Within days I was fielding a complaint from Mama Rachel.
“What did you do?” the complaint began – never a good sign.
“Nothing,” I protested even before the charge was laid on me.
“You made Abby a fold-over, didn’t you? (awkward pause) Didn’t you?” I felt like I was being interrogated by Matlock.
“Yes. Yes, I did it,” I caved. “I made her a peanut butter and jelly fold-over.”
“Well, I made her a PB and J tonight and she refused to eat. She wanted me to make it the way Papa does.”
First, Jaxen’s pancakes. Now, Abby’s PB and J fold-overs.
Can’t I do anything right?
As 2013 prepares to ring in, Sandra and I are going to do our best to avoid teaching behaviors to our grandkids that make parents disgruntled.
Since we seem out of touch with things that annoy today’s parents and day caregivers, I am not hopeful.
But we will try.
Mike Parker is a columnist for The Free Press. You can reach him at mparker16@suddenlink.net or in care of this newspaper.