Like Riding a Bike

We got the call Sunday evening, at our friend's house getting ready to eat. Jordan, our eldest was in the ER, again. The panic is always there, but those words always me my stomach knot up. This journey is a long and familiar one for us. Jordan is a three timer on this cancer deal. My first question every time she calls is, "Is everything alright?" I take a fair amount of guff, but it habit and defense mechanism. So we waited until late Sunday night and got the word that it was a bowel obstruction, probably having some correlation to all the surgeries she has endured. But this is a pretty common and easily corrected problem. Our S-i-L had a lot on his plate this week and I had no appointments, so I volunteered to drive to Amarillo in my little Ford Ranger and corral the kids while he worked and Jordan convalesced.

Took off very early for Amarillo and arrived around 1:30. From those moments on I have been reminded that my role as grandaddy and my role as caregiver are worlds different.
We gathered all at the hospital and then I took Brad's truck and the kids and headed to my daughter's house, pulled up in the driveway and couldn't find the garage door opener. Eli my 7 year-old said he knew the code. So he hopped out and ran (he always runs unless the family is in a hurry then he shifts into the glacial speed) to the keypad, typed in some numbers...nothing. He looks at me and mouths the question, "What is the number?" I shrugged my shoulders and, in the universal sign of bewilderment, raised my hands palms up. I don't know. Then I see him trying to work out the code with is fingers..there was a zero and at least one "four". With is face pinched with concentration he reenters the code. Eureka! we have the wrong garage door opening! He sees the problem, holds up one finger (as in, hold on a second) and races inside the garage to hit the manual button next to the back door..we are in.

After unloading my suitcase and rolling laptop case and two backpacks and cups and stuff we start getting squared away to take baths. Seperate or together? Does a 7 year old boy and 4 year old girl bath together? I hoped so, that way I can keep an eye on both. So we are running the water and Miss Phoebe informs me we don't have the right shampoo. Apparently she needs the kind that "makes my hair curly" So off she races and returns with an armload of hair care bottles. I have no idea where they came from, but she is certain that the yellow one makes her hair curly. No problem, whoever is missing shampoo is on their own. Eli meanwhile is trying to not get any part of himself wet. He prefers the dry cleaning method. He was informed that he would, indeed, have to get wet. After a significant amount of sloshing, all were at least soaked, if not cleaned. Now for a book. Each ran in different directions and chose a book, one was on sharks the other on princesses. Hmmm. State certified mediation is good thing to have. Doesn't work on anyone under 10 years old. We settled on a Dr. Seuss book, we struggled with a Wocket in My Pocket. This reading made no one happy, and no one got their way, welcome to mediation. In bed at 8:15, not bad target time was 8PM, but no parents around, so who will know?

5:30AM. Alarm clock works. 30 minutes of my disciplines, mostly reading and praying, figured I needed both for the day. Then start coffee, and getting Eli up and running. You remember the "racing" from yesterday? Not so much today. Our D-i-L introduced us to the term "slowy-McPokerson" Wow was the boy moving S-l-O-W! Getting dressed, "Can I wear my Wranglers and boots?" Trick question? Does his mom know to look for this trickery? I asked, "Do you want to go out on the playground with boots on?" What answer did I expect? Of course he did. Go for it. Almost walked out the door with his pajama shirt on.

Boys are pretty easy to dress, jeans, shoes and any shirt that is on top in drawer. Girls in the other hand....We went through all four drawers, pulled out at least 5 pants (after negating two dresses) and a dozen tops. It is a bewildering array of colors, prints, styles, and combinations. And guess what, a 4 year old has surprisingly strong opinions about what she will wear and what she won't. But we settled on an outfit that was at least acceptable. Doing the hair is an entire full post on its own. Let me just say that men (grandaddies) have nothing in their DNA or experience that gets them ready for the trauma of trying to fix a 4 year olds curly hair. I failed, it was a mop when we started and went downhill from there. She will simply have to live with the fact that I love her dearly and have no idea how to tackle that red mess on her head. But I took her to KU and made sure all the moms there knew that Jordan was still in the hospital. Mia culpa.

First 24 hours, all in the right place at the right time. Followed by a meltdown at bath time last night, 8:30 announcement that he had forgotten a couple of assignments (he asked me to read his reading assignment, I declined, told him I had already passed well beyond the 6th grade, he needed to read it) So missed bedtime by almost an hour due to homework, put the other one to bed sobbing. This entire structure will be completely destroyed if we don't get mom home by Thursday.

Godspeed out there to all you grandparents who are raising your grandkids. I simply am too old to do it. It is not just energy, but role. I'm better as a grandaddy. I haven't forgotten, but I don't want to tackle it everyday.
Don