‘Grandma is my name and spoiling is my game!’

This past month, I have been eagerly waiting for my 8-year-old grandson to arrive and spend four days with us. I imagined how nice it will be for him to sit on my lap as I read him stories of butterflies and children skipping through the forest. I was going to live in that “perfect grandmother world.”

Pat Van Dyke
Columnist, The Friday Flyer

I prepared all of the necessary “Grandma Things”: chocolate chip cookies, lemonade, craft projects and puzzles. I imagined us eating cookies and drinking milk while we toiled together over a puzzle of kittens and roses. I stocked my pantry with candy, sugar-coated cereals and a big bag of white and pink frosted animal crackers.

Trevor and I could be a study of goodness for a Hallmark card or models for a Norman Rockwell painting.

Trevor arrived, and before his parents drove out of the driveway, I knew I was in trouble as I watched Trevor run around the house shouting, “I’m free, I’m free.” Pastor Pete stopped him and asked him what he meant and he replied, “I’m at Grandma’s and she is going to spoil me! I ‘m going to get to eat anything and go anywhere I want.” I had a feeling that my “perfect grandmother world” may hit a snag.

He was right about eating. He could have anything he wanted; however, I didn’t realize that he is almost a vegetarian by his own choice. An 8-year-old that doesn’t eat hotdogs, pizza and McDonalds hamburgers? There goes my meal plan.

When I stopped him from running around the house, I asked him what he wanted to eat. His answer: “Broccoli, asparagus, squash and Brussel sprouts!” Where did I go wrong? How could I have a grandson who wants to eat only healthy food? This isn’t even American!

As I was pouring chocolate milk to go with our cookies, I heard Trevor say, “But Grandma, I’m lactose intolerant.” There goes my “Hallmark Moment.” Next, I cleared the table and brought out the puzzles and lemonade. I knew that this would be a sweet time of bonding only to be told, “Kittens, flowers and pink lemonade are for girls, not boys!” There goes my “Norman Rockwell Scene.”

At this point, I decided that I would enter Trevor’s video game realm. Years ago, I was a master at Pac Man, Tetris and Pong, so this would be easy. What could be hard about a couple of Italian men running all over the screen? It was rated “E,” which means even a preschooler could handle it.

Trevor gave me a controller and showed me what every button was used for. He gave me a few instructions and started the game. I was ready to save the princess! I jumped, ran, flew, climbed, but I couldn’t get the screen to move. I would constantly “die.”

Trevor didn’t realize that when you get my age and you’re told “don’t die,” you take it very seriously. I began to feel sorry for the princess. With me at the controls, her fate was set: she is going to live in the tower for the rest of her life!

I suggested a rousing game of “Chutes and Ladders,” but that was rejected due to the lack of interactive game pieces. Pastor Pete’s collection of vintage Tonka trucks was dismissed because “They don’t do anything. They just sit there!”

I suggested we go to one of the numerous playgrounds in our community. I can’t believe how much faster the swings are now. By the time I was going backwards, my stomach was still going frontwards!

We then decided to go to Mr. Pennypickle’s Workshop, a wonderful, kid-friendly museum. The first room we entered was a room in which the children could quietly play with blocks and form all kinds of patterns. That lasted for about five minutes. The remainder of the time, Trevor was joined by 50 other kids pulling on every cord, ringing every bell, pounding on every drum, and running from room to room while I tried to keep up with him.

Pastor Pete ran alongside us for 30 minutes and then disappeared. An hour later, I found him sitting quietly in the corner of the first room making patterns out of blocks.

Our final act of providing our grandson with special memories was to tour the Railway Museum. The sign said “Free Admission.” That was music to Pastor Pete’s ears! I found it wonderfully interesting, but Trevor had set his sights on the gift shop. Grandpa has a hard time saying “no,” so we left the Railway Museum $50 poorer.

The last evening, we finally found the perfect activity for our grandson. We bought him a 99-cent bag of balloons. Pastor Pete and Trevor spent three hours blowing up balloons and hitting each other on the head. Now I know exactly what I’m going to get Pastor Pete for our 50th anniversary!

When Tom and Mary returned, they looked rested, refreshed and revitalized. We used to look like that! But all is not lost. We watched them place Trevor’s duffel bag in their car unaware that we had smuggled a loud train whistle into the bottom of his bag. We had told him how much fun it would be to blow the whistle the next morning before his parents woke up. It’s so much fun being a grandparent!