Mary Poppins I ain’t.
Don’t get me wrong — I love my three grandchildren to no end, would give my right arm for any one of them.
But as far as one of those cookie-baking, sewing, pot roast-making type of grandmas? I’m not.
Recently, I got an idea that it would be good to keep all three grandbabies and give their mamas a night off.
I called in reinforcements in the form of Mr. Kirk and our youngest daughter, Jordan. Thank goodness.
We decided Pawpaw would grill hamburgers and hot dogs, a great plan, we thought. Now mind you, our grandbabies are nearly 3, 20 months and at that time, 3 weeks. Seriously, only one of them even cares about food at this point. So the grilling was more for us. Ha.
Prior to their arrival, I set up a “changing station” of sorts on my bed. Laid out a towel, huge box of wipes, and once they got there, the various diapers, Desitin, etc.
We played, giggled, cuddled, went out in the back yard while Pawpaw grilled and played with a remote controled truck. Good times.
At some point I discovered little princess wasn’t smelling so fresh (she’s the middle baby). So, off we headed for the changing station. As I placed her on the towel on my bed, I noticed Pawpaw on his hands and knees in front of the toilet in the bathroom, wiping the floor with baby wipes. What are you doing, I asked? Apparently, eldest grandson had also needed to go “Number two.” You know that space between the toilet seat and the base? Well, it seems it is the perfect escape hatch for tinkle when a little boy sits to pee or whatever.
While giggling at him, I open the diaper in my focus area and discover that indeed, she had made a “shewie.” (As my precious Grandma Neva used to say.) I began cleaning it up with several baby wipes, chasing one particularly persistent pellet around and around. Set the bad diaper over on my nightstand, and finished with the fresh diaper and her pants.
Meanwhile, Mr. Kirk, being ever so vigilant and a tiny bit OCD, came ‘round with a plastic sack and collected the diaper. I noticed after he exited that in his haste, a used wipe had fallen out and remained on my nightstand. I swooped it up and placed it in the trash.
A couple of hours later, after we’d had dinner and cleaned up, we noticed while feeding the youngest baby his bottle that he’d had a big blowout in his diaper. So, off Jordan and I went to the bed once again, where I placed little man on the towel, and she stationed herself at his head to help out. Something made me look to the right at my nightstand, and there, all alone in its glory, was that stubborn pellet I’d chased earlier from the granddaughter’s diaper. Yike!
After disposing of that, we tackled the newest member of the family. Once he was all cleaned up, and the new diaper laying ready to fasten, I removed the wipe I’d used to cover his little boyness, and about that time the spray started, shot over his head onto my decorative bed pillows, on my comforter, and then right into his own eyes. Jordan was laughing hysterically and I slapped the wipe back over his business. Cleaned all that up, and once again tried to fasten this new (and still dry, miraculously!) diaper and can you believe it — that little dickens did it again.
This, dear readers, I believe is why the good Lord gave me girls.
I’m learning. About the time I really get it down the youngest will probably be house broken ... er uh, potty trained as well.
Good times in the Granny ‘hood!
Deanna Kirk is a Daily Sun staff writer and editor of Explore magazine. Her column appears on Saturdays. She may be reached via email at email@example.com. Want to “Soundoff” on this column? Email: firstname.lastname@example.org
Mary Poppins I ain’t.
Salute to 'Mr. Derrick Days'
I can’t help but think back to the “near-death experience” that Derrick Days had 14 years ago, and how one man’s determination brought it back.
I was 29-years-old when my father died of multiple myeloma, cancer of the bone marrow. He was 53 years of age. Only hours before his death, I spoke with him. Our eyes met during that final visit, the same eye contact we had shared from my birth.
It’s about time
Some aspect of time steals quietly into our psyche in all conscious moments, and our use or abuse of it is central to much poetry, lyrics, scripts, conversations — you name it.
The Wonderlic Test
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Work Out? Bite your tongue!
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Amen, Daddy. Me too.
Letters to the Editor for Saturday, April 12, 2014
Thanks for service
To the Editor: The Blooming Grove Elementary School would like to express appreciation to several individuals and businesses that for three years have provided a “free” vision exam and eyeglasses for many of our students.
Uncle Mort: For the Birds
Personal experiences racked up across three-quarters of a century — including yips and yaps at lecterns spanning five decades — offer positive proof that many times, utter silence is preferable to spoken words.
For many years, in a previous life, I had somewhat of a reputation as a master-of-ceremonies and I stayed relatively busy at that avocation. I never met a microphone I didn’t like
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Weird foods on our shelves
The Atlantic magazine reported recently that sales of frozen pre-packaged dinners are falling and Nestle is considering selling off its Lean Cuisine food line.
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