Funny Grandbabies

My grandbabies might be a chip off the old block, or more likely, the nut that didn’t fall far from the tree.

Dialogue between Aunt L with 4-year-old Lyds on her lap while playing Go Fish with me:

Lyds: “I’ve never had a giraffe before.”

Aunt L: “Don’t tell Grammy what we’ve got.”

Lyds: “Otay. Oh, we have two cows.”

Aunt L: “Don’t tell.”

Lyds: “Otay. Das right. Don’t tell. … Don’t let her take our dog.”

While at Vacation Bible School last summer, 5-year-old Mads was asked by high school volunteers, what she’d like to drink? She calmly replied, “Sweet tea;” as if it was a standard beverage she sips nightly right after her gin and tonic. Being high schoolers, they didn’t know it was taboo and handed it right over. A few weeks later, her mother asked what she’d like for her birthday dinner? Mads rattled off a monologue of entries with the last being “sweet tea.” It was a no-go – a mom is not a high school volunteer.

Four-year-old Romes attends Taekwondo with instructor Mr. Wadley. Romes, who considers it karate, said, “Gwammy, Mr. Wobbly teaches me koloty.” We attended a class and ‘Mr. Wobbly’ should be presented a ruby and emerald pendant with diamond clusters, for “patience beyond what any man was ever meant to bear.’”

One day Romes, smiling slightly, was blankly staring out the window. I asked what he was thinking? He solemnly stated, “Gwammy, I don’t think.” When I told Gar, he nodded, “It must run in the family.”

Romes and I were listening to music when, upon hearing a song, he said, “That’s from the old Lego movie; not the new one. I like old things.” I said, “Good, cause I’m old. Are you old?” Somberly, he replied, “No, I’m new.”

Our 2-year-old twins, Pen and Avy, dearly love Doris, a widowed neighbor. These girls, who are obviously from my direct lineage, are nosy and stalk Doris’s every move. When they hear her car, they run to the window and exclaim, “Dowis! Dowis!” I’m thinking we should get them binoculars so they can spy at the professional, spying level of their Grammy.

The last time we visited our kids in Florida, we witnessed Mad’s and Lyd’s first tennis lesson, which was mirthful beyond words. At their age, I think the coach was happy that they were within 30 yards of the net and aware they might be playing a sport. Wes, 2, wasn’t thrilled about having to watch, until a ball rolled under the fence to him and he could play a multi-faceted version of, “Duck dad, a ball is coming for your head.” The sign on the court’s gate stated the age for lessons started at 18 months. I’m guessing that would be for parents feeling they had entirely too many bags of gold and were just sick of packing them around.

Gramps and 5-year-old Dane play Battleship and when Gramps doesn’t get a hit, Dane jokes, “Miss sissy.” Once, while holding his arm up, Dane asked Gramps to feel it. Gramps exclaimed, “Whew! Lots of muscles!” Dane nodded, “Yeah, we’re a family of muscles.” Most likely, in all seriousness, Gramps replied, “That’s so true.”

Our oldest grandchild 9-year-old Garrett, was telling us about one of his baseball games last summer. He said, “I caught the ball with my chest, so Mom is considering getting me a chest pad.” Rolling his eyes, his 5-year-old brother Dane interjected, “Well, you know, you’re not supposed to catch the ball with your chest.” Quips like this is why big brothers wait until mom and dad are out of earshot before poking the mouthy one in the eye.

Every day, these little people say zany things. Lyds adores her Aunt L and one morning, was watching L put on a necklace. Looking sad, and slowly shaking her head, Lyds said, “You should stop wearing that.” Surprised, her aunt asked why and she replied, “Well, because you’re so pretty, it makes me sick.”

Our son and his little Romes were playing hide and seek. Our son hid and Romes searched and searched. Finally, his mom asked where his daddy could be? Frowning, he replied, “Somewhere, of course.”

Two-yr-old Avy was at the store getting ice cream with her mom; when seeing the hundreds of assorted flavors, she squealed. Amused, her mom asked, “Well, what should we get?” Avy yelped, “A spoon!”

There’s no need for DNA testing; this child is obviously flesh of my flesh.


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