THE SONIC BOOMER
Unlike many kids around here, my grandkids had the day off from school for Presidents’ Day, and that means that I got first dibs on watching them. Yay! They couldn’t wait to stay at my house.
We play store, play dolls, play sword-fight, play on the computer and, when we’re all tuckered out, watch a G-rated movie while eating potato chips in bed.
My daughter grimaces when she thinks of what the day holds for them food-wise but, other than that, they’re in good hands. As for me, I think my daughter just may be a prima donna foodie health nut who is overreacting simply because she is not in control of them for one little day.
You be the judge.
These adorable, treat-starved kids start their day with orange sodas. In my defense, they do not get an entire can of soda. They get the remainder of the can I gave them right before bedtime. And it’s a small can. To further defend my case, I could say, “No one ever died from drinking soda!” but I’ve recently learned that isn’t necessarily so.
After the soda, they get homemade pancakes, which everyone knows are among the healthiest of the fried dough balls. I jazz the pancakes up with whipped cream (oh, come on, it’s the same as butter!), sugar sprinkles (left over from Christmas cookies… I’m recycling!) and maraschino cherries (yes, I know they are bleached before being dyed, but not with Red Dye #2… that has been outlawed). They gobble these up, but for some reason intuitively turn up their noses at the bacon. It’s OK. I’ll crumble up the bacon and toss it over my salad later tonight. (OK, I lied about that last part. I really mean “ice cream,” not “salad.”)
After breakfast, we do arts and crafts. I have been saving beads and pom-pons and glitter and sequins my entire life just so that, when I had grandchildren, I could let them use as many craft items as they wanted. And they do. You should see some of these projects! Valentine’s Day was a veritable mountain of paper doilies coated in schlock. It’s hard to not feel loved when you are handed a two-pound Valentine still dripping with Elmer’s glue by a 4-year-old as proud of herself as she can possibly be.
Craft time doesn’t take long (nothing does, at that age) but cleanup takes forever. Turns out glitter and fluffy throw rugs do not mix. So then it’s lunchtime. I know better than to give the kids processed lunchmeat and square, flat cheese on white bread. In the first place, I don’t have any. In the second place, they don’t like that kind of sandwich. Instead, I make them the disgustingly titled “ants on a log,” wherein I spread peanut butter on a celery stick and mash raisins into it. They deftly use their tongues to slurp out the raisins and peanut butter. The celery is left on the plate.
On to homework time. As much as the kids hate homework time, I love it. I finally have all the answers.
After homework time, they get rewarded with cookies, candy, cake or whatever other childhood delicacy I have been hiding from them for this moment. Their joy is palpable — and loud.
I can’t help it that at this point in time, when they are fully loaded with sugar, my daughter comes to pick them up. For some reason, they never want to go.