Always providing a laugh.
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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 trenaid@hotmail.
com.