The New Tale of Peter Rabbit

Lily spent last weekend with us.  She’s 2 years old and a delightful child – easy going, extremely well-mannered, has a sweet loving spirit and is a great conversationalist.  She is the grandchild of my husband’s only daughter which makes her even more special.

We had a delightful Saturday.  After picking up Miss Lil right after breakfast we headed over to Target to check out the children’s clothes and shoes.  We found some cute outfits and just the right pair of close-toed rubber soled shoes for our morning outing at Zilker Park.  Such fun to take her on the Zilker Zephyr and ride the train through the park, looking down at the canoeists and dogs on Town Lake and enjoying the park musician who played guitar and harmonica at the same time, hat cocked sideways over his smiling face.  I had wanted to feed the ducks, who used to always hang out by the canoes, but there were so many dogs I think they were in hiding.  Lily was just as happy tossing our pieces of bread to the birds – the doves and pigeons became her new best friends.  As they flocked around her on the ground she told Grandpa, “Look, they’re chewing the bread!”   And she proudly announced there were so many there were “five birdies”!

Playing on the playground brought back memories of doing that with my children.  It’s wonderful to bring out a mental photo album any time you want and enjoy special times from the past while living similar times.  Only now I don’t have the time constraints of a young mother and I have Grandpa to help me carry and watch for danger.   Sweet.

Leaving Zilker, it was on to Sandy’s for some good old fashioned burgers.  They didn’t have a kid size burger so we got Lily a corn dog.  She wasn’t sure what to do with it, but as soon as I showed her how to hold the stick, dip the dog in catsup and take a bite, she was all over it.  Sans breading though -  she wanted to get right to the meat of the matter.

After nap we decided to beat the heat by playing in the kiddie pool on the back porch.  It got pretty crowded with Lily and Grandpa when Duke had to get in on the water play fun.   But had no problem with that.  A few plastic measuring cups, spoon and a funnel, keep the water hose running and you’ve got hours of 2 yr old entertainment.  You don’t have to have a fancy pool or custom playscape in your backyard to have fun with kids, sometimes people forget that.  What they want is you and your undivided attention; toys and things are a distant second on their list.  Well, time, love and undivided attention are just what Grandpa and Grandma have.   What a great day.

But wait, there’s more.  At bedtime Lily likes Grandpa to read her a story while I get the pack n play set up (I can face one again, it’s been a month since The Rollaway Cart) and straighten up the grandkids room.  She chose several books for him, but the one that had me rolling on the floor was The Tale of Peter Rabbit. Normally this is not a very funny story, but the way Grandpa read it that night was … vintage Grandpa.

Grandpa’s rendition of The Tale of Peter Rabbit, Beatrix Potter’s classic story, was not exactly Uncle Remus style.  It was more of a country, on-the-verge-of-redneck version – a twist only he could pull off.   Here is what I recall of his tale – I can’t remember it word for word because I ended up laughing so hard it was difficult to concentrate.  I don’t hear so well with laugh tears rolling down my cheeks.

As his story begins, Peter and his friends decide they want a new corvette.  On the way to the car house [car house?  Really?] they stop to eat some cabbage.  They all get gas, and one of the rabbits gets some thing called the “squirts”.  They continue their journey and make comments to each other about how bad they smell, with a lot of boy noises accompanying that dialogue.  I don’t know how to type those sounds, just use your imagination.  On the way they stop at Grandpa’s house to visit “old Duke” and get some barbeque, apparently the perfect food for little rabbits suffering from gas.   They ate the barbeque and it was so good they never left and they all lived at Grandpa’s house with old Duke happily ever after.

Lily was riveted.  Seriously.  I couldn’t believe it, she never took her eyes off the pages as he turned them.  She listened carefully as he read enthusiastically, with great style and fun voice inflections and only brief pauses to think of what to say next.  Hey, this is the child who announced at supper that “Grandpa is a yummy, yummy cooker” and kept repeating “Thank you for this wonderful supper”.  Of course she’s going to love his new version of Peter Rabbit. 

Trouble is I’ll probably never be able to read her the real story; she’ll think I’ve got it wrong……

Family Reunion

It is hard to describe how much I love my family.  It’s a healthy love, not clannish or obligatory in any way; rather it is a connection so deep as to be unfathomable, and our desire to have gatherings regularly and spend time together has been there as long as I can remember.

My mom has often commented that we are fortunate to have what we have in our family, this bond that so many people do not have.  The longer I’m alive the more I agree with her.   As my sister said when we parted at our recent family reunion, how very blessed we all are!   We want to keep up with what is going on in each other’s lives.  We love our inside jokes and all the laughs that happen at our gatherings, we weep when one has a sorrow, we rejoice when there is an accomplishment or new grandchild, and we pray when there are concerns for we know that God is in control and He hears our prayers.  

As the self-appointed family scribe for our annual reunions, I can testify to the endless supply of quick witticisms that dart between us.  It’s so much fun, and usually so funny, that it is hard to keep up sometimes and hard to enjoy the last comment because the repartee is constant. 

Like all families we are a blend of our past, present and future.  Our ancestors on my mother’s side have been Texans for many generations, and as I like to say the blood and independent spirit of Texicans and American revolutionaries runs in our veins.  There are professionals, college graduates, those established in their chosen trade or field, teachers, project managers, stay-at-home mothers, administrative workers, bankers, fireman, financial decision makers, pilots, those who have traveled abroad for work and for pleasure, business owners, purchasing and warehousing, high-tech managers, HR managers – and that’s just in my immediate family of parents, siblings and our children.  As I write it I marvel again at the diverse paths our individual lives have taken yet the path we all return to is the one that starts with the umbilical cord.   With the passage of time some of us have married, divorced, been widowed or remain single, and while our group is blessed with the spouses we have added our unity transcends marital status.

My heart is filled with gratitude that once again we were able and willing to gather for visiting and eating and swimming and boating and matching shirts and watching after the little ones, and we have all returned safely home to resume our daily lives.  None of us knows what this coming year will bring, but we all know that, God willing, we will all be together again this time next year.   And we look forward to it.

The Rollaway Cart

As Emily would say, “Let me tell you about the rollaway cart!” 

Recently my daughter and family moved into their first house.  With the packing, moving, working, closing, Grandpa and I came to town for a few days to keep the girls.   We arrived on Monday.    We chose a nearby hotel with a suite so we could have kitchen, living room and a bedroom to put Molly down in a quiet place.  It also served a hot breakfast & dinner, which was perfect for us with a 4 yr old and 1 yr old. 

We checked in first to unload our baggage before picking up the girls and all the things that accompany little ones of that age group.   When we picked them up, the trunk of the car quickly refilled with suitcases, pack-n-play, favorite dolls and stuffed animals, diaper bag, and blankets that are a must at nighttime.  At the hotel, Emily became our official elevator button pusher:  3 for the floor to our room, 1 for the floor at mealtime and to get to the pool.   There were lots of mini-adventures during the first 24 hours – Molly’s haz-mat diaper, going to breakfast with wrong way Mouse and wrong way Molly, and Grandpa taking Emily swimming – before Grandpa had to leave to get back to work.  Dropping him off at the airport, I noticed both the girls were napping.  It would be my last moments of quiet since I’d be keeping them by myself on our last hotel night.  Back at the room we had a fun bubble-splash bath and we all slept soundly that night.

My plan was to check out the next morning and take them to their new home to get settled.  That morning Emily & I read her favorite Bible stories, built pillow houses for Mouse and Rudolph while Molly busied herself trying to open every door, cabinet, and window without success.   I began to corral our things for packing onto a bellman’s cart while they played.  We had suitcase, pack-n-play, diaper bag, pillows, toys, gift bags – some ransacked & some saved for opening at the new house – and groceries.  I loaded and re-loaded until everything was arranged and all I had left was the pack-n-play.  Molly had a fresh diaper and a full bottle, Emily was busy helping “ride herd” on this 13 month toddler whom Grandpa had dubbed Wrong Way Molly.  Every time you put her down she toddled off in exactly the wrong direction!  Wrong Way Molly also has a thing for hiding her bottle – she has a knack for throwing it into drawers, corners, couch cushions – anywhere it will be difficult to find. 

The girls followed me into the bedroom where I proceeded to collapse the pack-n-play.  I have one at home and they are SO convenient, easy to put up and take down.  At least mine is.  This one was a bear.  I re-read the directions and tried again, succeeding only in getting it halfway folded.  It was getting close to check out time, the girls were getting hungry and I was getting quite frustrated.  After a few minutes, Emily piped up:  “Grandma, do you know what my mommy does when she’s frust-erated?”  “No, Emily, tell me.”  “She just tries and tries 100 times until she gets it.  That’s what you have to do.”  Indeed.  I thanked her, calmed down and tried again.  But time won out, and I ended up cramming the ¾ folded contraption unbagged on top of the luggage on our cart.  It would have to do.

The next challenge was how to safely maneuver the loaded cart and Wrong Way Molly out the door, into the elevator, down to the ground floor and out to the car with only a 4 yr old to help me.  But then, Emily is no average 4 yr old – she stepped up into a leadership role.  While she held the heavy room door open, I held Molly firmly on one hip and with my free hand guided the cart out into the hallway, pocketing a room key at the last minute just in case I’d missed something.  Emily was our line leader, steering the cart and singing the whole way as I pushed from behind.  She pushed the elevator button, and when it opened I told her to wait in the hallway until I could position the cart inside the cab.  She did, but it took me a long time to get the cart in.  As I was just about to tell her to step in, the doors closed, leaving a stranded Emily in the hallway with her Grandma & sister inside the elevator!  Thankfully I found the “open” button quickly.  The doors opened and I could see on Emily’s face it was almost panic time.  She ran in and got right by my side – that was too close a call.  The thought of her left alone up there if I hadn’t been able to stop the elevator in time unnerved me.  I clasped her hand tightly and when we arrived at the ground floor we managed to get the cart and us out all together.

Feeling relieved, we started down the hallway.  Molly began to fuss and I reached for her bottle.  It was not in her hand or the diaper bag.  Yikes!! THAT was one item we had to have and quickly.  Emily and I looked up and down the hallway but no bottle in sight.  Slowly I realized she must have dropped it on the way or thrown it somewhere in the room.

Talk about a dilemma.  I wasn’t about to make that trip up to the room again with the kids and cart, and I certainly wasn’t about to leave Emily with our cart to go look for the bottle.  There was only 1 option.  I said a prayer of protection for the cart, took Emily’s hand and said, “Let’s go find Molly’s bottle.”  Emily was concerned about our things and what if they were gone when we got back.  So was I, but we agreed God would have to take care of it.

Back down the hall, push the elevator button, back to the 3^rd floor, down the hall to Room 327.  Thank you God for the room key in my pocket!  We entered the room and began the search.  After a frantic few minutes I spotted the bottle down in an empty brown shopping bag right where Molly had thrown it, probably while I was wrestling the pack-n-play, too busy to notice.

One final look around and then we were off – this time with bottle clutched in Molly’s hand.  Down the hall, into the elevator, push the buttons, spilled out onto the 1^st floor and down that hall.  Was the cart sill there?  YES!  Thank you God!  As we started pushing an angel disguised as a building maintenance man rounded the corner and offered to help.  We gladly accepted, and in moments we were safely outside.  We thanked Mr. Martinez and I assessed the situation.  My car was 4 spaces over from the ramp we’d have to use.  It was almost noon on a hot June day and I was sweating already.  I decided to have Emily stand by the cart at the sidewalk’s edge, and more importantly in the shade.  I instructed her not to move, to stay by the cart and watch me as I deposited Molly in the car and moved it closer so we could load it.  She assured me she wouldn’t move and I knew I could keep my eye on her.  I left her holding a gift bag with brightly colored tissue stretching up out of the top.

I unlocked the car and started the AC.  Then around to the back to secure Molly in her car seat.  Back in the driver seat I adjusted the air vents and pressed “max”.  With the car in reverse I turned to look over my right shoulder before backing out and did a double take as I saw our cart, packed to the gills, speeding across the parking lot by itself!  Holy Hawks!!  Where was Emily?  What if she ran after it??

I rammed the gearshift into park, flung the door open and heard, “Grandma, Grandma!”  I ran over to Emily, standing exactly where I’d left her, bag in hand, a totally bewildered expression on her face.  “Emily, are you OK?  Good girl for NOT running into the parking lot.  What happened?”  “Well, I was going to hang the bag on a hook on the cart but I never got to because the cart just rolled away!”  Looking to the direction she was pointing, I saw our Rollaway Cart.  Yes, that was definitely ours:  3 suitcases, pillows, a Cinderella sleeping bag, Bear & Mouse hanging on for dear life, bag of groceries, laptop bag, diaper bag, gift bags, & cpap bags hanging from hooks on the side topped off with Grandpa’s wet swim trunks spread over the top bars to dry.  Totally a Beverly Hillbillies look.  I looked back at Emily, waiting expectantly to see how I would react.  She didn’t know if she should be scared, worried, laugh or prepare for rebuke.  All of a sudden, I was done.  Toast.  The scare of Emily almost stranded alone on the 3^rd floor, anxiety over leaving the cart unattended, frantic search for Molly’s bottle, wrestling with the #$&(^$#)@ pack-n-play, and now the Rollaway Cart, stopped by a curb, openly displaying the guts of our hotel stay for all to see, but amazingly intact.  I just lost it.  I started to laugh.  And I kept laughing, big belly laughs, hysterical double-you-over laughter that caused laugh-tears to roll down my cheeks.  Emily started to laugh too. 

So there we were.  Laughing uncontrollably in a Hyatt hotel parking lot at high noon on a hot summer day with my baby granddaughter unattended in my car running with the AC full blast and door wide open, halfway backed out of the parking space, and our rollaway bellman cart illegally parked catty-wampus next to a curb in the middle of the hotel parking lot.

It was probably only a minute, but it seemed like forever before I could start to stop laughing.  Actually, Emily and I are still laughing about the Rollaway Cart, but that day we were able to get it under control enough to pack the car and drive to their new house where Mom & Dad awaited their girls.   Still chuckling, I gathered myself and got us back on track.  Telling Emily to use the sidewalk to go to the car to check on Molly, I headed over to the Rollaway Cart and hauled it back to where Emily was faithfully waiting.  Molly was happily drinking her milk, unaware of our hair-raising adventures.  As I strapped Emily in we looked at each other and started laughing again.  The entire rest of the day it went like that.  We’d be going about our business and exchange a glance and start laughing all over again.  At supper Emily said, “I’m still laughing about the Rollaway Cart!” so we told the story again to Mom and Dad.  Weeks later, she came to visit me at work and as we lunched with co-workers she would say to each new person who entered the room, “Let me tell you about the Rollaway Cart……”