It is that time of the year or the quarter or the month (pick one). Grandma and Grandpa are in charge of three grandkids for the weekend - Friday morning until Sunday evening after bedtime. Mom and Dad return late Sunday night. Grandma and Grandpa head to the airport 6:00 a.m. Monday morning, fleeing on a jet plane home.
Friday morning it was our job to get the kids dressed, fed, and off to school with appropriate gear - homework, lunch, backpacks - and not looking as if they fell directly out of bed and into the car (no school buses for elementary kids in this Republican enclave/state).
I am at a disadvantage with the girls when it comes to taming their long curly tresses. I had long curly hair, but in the 1960s I ironed my mane. I doubt Mom would like that idea. My experience with two boys did nothing to further my hair salon skills. The girls refused to wear pigtails or a ponytail, so after some mousse and painful brushing (Ouch - you're hurting me - it's fine leave me alone...) I let nature take its course.
The nine year old dresses himself, but he has no idea how to comb his longish hair and refuses to let anyone near his mane. He brushes his teeth, but more toothpaste gets on the sink, basin, his body and clothing than in his mouth. Brushing over 20 seconds severely cuts into vital time spent with Legos, video games, the TV, reading, and fighting with his sisters.
Grandpa was in charge of breakfast while I got the girls dressed and ready. Grandpa started the dressing process with the six year old but after rejecting his clothing choices, Grandma was called to the rescue.
The six year old was dressed, but the three year old has a stubborn streak. I got her into a shirt and pants, but she refused socks. Then she wanted to wear one of her princess dresses. It took a while to decide which one. She has several, some purchased, others gifts and hand-me-downs. Then she decides she wants to wear her rain boots. We are in Florida. It has not rained for days, the sun is shining, and how much clothing can the kid put on in 80 degree temperatures?
Finally we head downstairs. The nine year old is already eating breakfast, carefully prepared by Grandpa, who knows his way around a kitchen, but not necessarily around the nutritional do's and don'ts of little ones.
He was feasting on waffles and ice cream.
Do not tell Mom. Or Dad.
The two girls excitedly sat down and began devouring the same breakfast.
I pulled lunchboxes from the refrigerator, stuffed everything in backpacks, and pushed everyone out the door.
The three year old does not go to preschool until later, but she follows in her big brother and sister's footsteps.
It was 7:30 a.m. and Grandpa and Grandma were exhausted.