So two weeks has come and gone. I survived. Not sure if my wallet survived just yet or not; still performing CPR on it. It’s touch and go on that scene.
The grandsons were an absolute joy and wonder and a definite pain in the butt but I wouldn’t have missed this experience for the world. Still catching up on my sleep, though, and on coffee – never did have more than a half a cup while they were here.
And my girlfriend’s hormones decided to put her life in jeopardy during their stay. I thought about strangling her more than once. No, I’m lying; let me be completely honest – I thought about beating her to death with a cast iron frying pan more than once. But we survived. My good sense prevailed. Thankfully. She seems better now. I just think it’s been a very long since she has been sleep deprived, and in demand with little kids. It was for me, that’s for sure, but I have the added benefit of being completely in love with them. Not in that creepy Law & Order SVU kind of way but in “My grandsons are the best ever” kind of way. God, I’m glad they went home.
We fed turtles every day at the pond and swam in the pool. We went to the natural history museum and made our own Camp Grandma G tee shirts. We drew on the sidewalk in chalk and then passed out chalk to little girls at the park. Geez, I do sound like a creeper. UGH. We played more Mario Kart than anyone should have to play, ever. We went to the planetarium and my 6-year old grandson sat with his arm around me, in a roomful of other kids. He made me feel like a million bucks.
And now I’m crying, again. Stupid hormones. Better go hide the frying pan from myself. UGH.
Things are almost back to normal. The living room furniture has been rearranged again. The rubber ducks are back under the sink, in hiding. The cabinets have been purged of paper chips and later today I’ll give away the rest of the red-white-and-blue popsicles. Stupid hormones.