I Can Do This

I Can Do This

My wife announces, “It’s time to go.”

My eldest daughter says, “Thanks Dad, you’re the greatest.”

My youngest daughter says, “That’s right, Dad. You’re the best.” It’s funny, but my daughters didn’t talk to me that way when they were teenagers.  But now they’re grown, married, and making babies, which makes me grandpa to the best grandkids in the world and a ready made baby-sitter.

My wife asks, “Honey, are you sure you can handle them?”

“Of course I can,” I assure her, “how hard can it be?”

Really now, how hard could this be? Eight month old Mary is already asleep.  The two year old twins, Eddie and Rita, play well together. And three year old Billie is really warming up to me. I’m his favorite. My two daughters are dragging their poor husbands to a chick flick and I encouraged my wife to go. Lucky me. I chuckle to think of the guys sitting through a chick flick while I stay at home watching football.  The game starts in half an hour.

“You’re a sweetheart, dear,” my wife responds. “Have fun playing with our grandkids. And don’t let Billie play in the bathroom again.”

“Don’t worry. I can do this.”

The young ladies give me hugs, my wife gives me a hug and a kiss, and they say good-bye. The door closes.

“Waaaaaaah!” wails little Eddie.

“Mooooommy,” screeches little Rita. I scoop them in my arms.  Together, we watch their parents drive away.  They continue screaming until the car is out of sight. Miraculously, they become quiet and want down.  They’re happy and ready to play. Yep, I can do this.

My first indication I might be wrong comes from Eddie, when he empties the toy bucket over his head, spilling blocks, cars, trains, and helicopters all over the living room floor. I vainly attempt to put the toys back in the bucket.

  Now I hear a whimper from down the hallway.  I find Mary awake, not knowing where she is. I pick her up and walk her around.  Soon I have lulled her back to sleep. “Yes, I can do this”, I tell myself.  Then I smell something bad. “No way,” I protest. Grandpa’s don’t do dirty diapers.  At least this grandpa doesn’t.  Until now.  I have no choice.  After I finish the dirty deed, I assure myself, “I can do this.”

I carry the wide awake Mary to the living room, to find more toys scattered everywhere and three tots on my dining room table.  The flower vase is tipped over and Rita is splashing in the water. 

“No, no, no,” I say, as I pull each kid off the table. I decide to clean up the mess later.

“Play with your toys, while Grandpa rocks Mary to sleep.”

To my relief, they do play with their toys…for about two minutes. Now it’s time to climb on Grandpa. Billie climbs on my shoulders and drums on my head. With great difficulty, I get the three little monsters off of me. Now they want to be chased. So I chase Billy, Eddie, and Rita around and around, while Mary watches from the couch, mesmerized by the commotion.  “That ought to get all their energy out,” I think to myself.  “Then I can enjoy my game.” I eventually collapse in a tired heap on the floor.

“Grandpa’s tired, no more chasing,” I say, huffing and puffing. Sometimes being a grandpa is hard work, but I can do it.

Eddie and Rita jump up and down on my brand new leather couch. Rita falls off one end and knocks over my reading lamp. She doesn’t skip a beat as she bounces back on the couch.  

I say, “My couch isn’t a trampoline,” as I grab the little brats off of my fine furniture and return the lamp to its proper place.

“I got to go potty,” Billie cries. With that warning, I rush him  to the bathroom just in the nick of time. I sigh with relief.  As we leave the bathroom, I make sure the door is closed.  The last thing I need is another roll of toilet scattered throughout the house. The ladies will be home soon, I assure myself.

When Billy and I return to the living room, it’s quiet.  Too quiet. Mary is sitting contently, but the other monsters aren’t in the living room.  I frantically search the house. The other bathroom door is closed, so that’s not a problem. The bedrooms are empty. I enter the kitchen just in time to find Eddie on the counter, with the flour container over his head.

“No!” I scream, as a cloud of white flour envelopes my grandson. “What’s taking those girls so long?” I say out loud.

 I look at the clock in horror. The ladies have only been gone for fifteen minutes!