Adventures everywhere I go


I’m a klutz, and nobody knows it better

than Gar. Several years ago, while out to dinner

with friends, I tipped a tall glass of iced

tea, right into Gar’s lap. He was momentarily

speechless as he searched for just the

right words to express his thoughts. Surely,

they were about how precious he thought I

was and how I brought bliss into his life. I

seem to have an adventure everywhere I go

but it’s not always Gar who gets the blunt

end of the stick. Awhile back, we began a

journey to see some of our kids and knowing

we were flying early the next morning, we

went to a restaurant close to the motel, which

was nearby the airport. As I sat my full glass

of water by my plate, I managed a mystery

maneuver and dumped the whole shebang,

ice and all, onto my thighs. Gar watched me

intently, with just a hint of satisfaction in the

tiny smile at the corners of his mouth.

Our children all have a great sense of

humor, which Gar has told me, comes from

his genes. This is probably true since he and

our offspring keep me in stitches whenever

we’re together. On this trip, when our plane

landed, I texted our kids to say we were on

the ground and taxiing toward them. When

I asked who had come to get us, our son responded

that they were all there and waiting.

I should have found this odd since usually

our grafted-in-daughter stays home with the

babies while he picks us up with our little

grandson whom I refer to as, “My miniature

Uber driver.”

As we came down the escalator, I

glimpsed our gang of grandbabies holding a

sign, but couldn’t make out what it said until

we broke free of the crowd. Those adorably

sweet, tiny beings were clutching a poster

boldly stating, “WELCOME HOME FROM

PRISON GRAMMY.” Their parents, thinking

they were without a doubt the funniest

people on earth, were slapping their thighs

and guffawing. We joined in with boisterous

hoots of our own while they took pictures

of me with the sign. About then, I turned

to see a group of people traveling together,

who had deplaned with us. They’d read the

poster and were whispering, unsure if it was

a joke. I gave a little wave then solemnly

whispered, “Pray for me.”

Due to a scheduling conflict, one of our

sons and his family couldn’t come, so we

were minus two grandsons. With the ones

we had, we went to the Children’s Museum

of Houston with a 6-year-old, two 4-yearolds,

three 2-year-olds, a 9-month-old and a

4-month-old. Oh-my-gosh. If we’d have put

that bunch on a treadmill, the energy exuded

could have produced enough megawatts to

service the state of Texas. I snapped a photo

and sent it to friends of a rare moment,

when the grandbabies sat quietly snuggled

together. In the text, I said, “This tranquil

photo is an illusion, a fallacy, a con and a

hoax. A more accurate description is vibrating

turbulence with much squealing.”

One day we all went to the recreation

center with three pools, two 10-foot kiddie

slides, a massive water park slide, a splash

pad and a waterfall, plus such an abundance

of people, I was able to make two observations.

The first being, don’t, as a grandma,

go to the pool with toddlers. I was never

relaxed and had to use math skills, which

are drifty at best, to take a head count every

15 seconds due to none of my grandbabies

having fear of anything, including death by

drowning. The other observation was, you

know how men and women are self-conscious

about whether their bodies measure

up? They should go to the pool. A pool is a

great equalizer that levels the playing field

by assisting everyone in looking his or her

ultimate worst. It’s a cure for arrogance and

a comfort to the insecure. Nobody looks like

a million bucks in a swimming pool.

Prior to catching our plane, I pulled our

4-year-old Uber driver to me for a snuggle

Me: I love you Romes.

Romes: I love you Grammy.

Me: I love you more.

Romes: I love you lotter.

Contact Trena Eiden at [email protected]

com.

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