THE SONIC BOOMER
Well, Easter was a disaster.
Not Easter, the religious celebration of renewal — that went fine. I’m talking about Easter, the dinner that had grandma quietly weeping into her mashed potatoes — that was the disaster. Worse yet, I was the grandma.
Oh, it’s ridiculous, really. And I’m fine, now having “bucked up,” “looked at the bright side” and otherwise “gotten it together.” (Snurf!)
It’s just that several years ago, I moved to Kansas City to help out with the grandchildren so my career-driven daughter could keep working. The kids weren’t born yet, but they were imminent.
Now they’re 13 and 11, and my career-driven daughter has landed an impossibly fabulous job with the Disney Corporation, a job she has been working toward her entire life, and a job with a title so long it barely fits on her business card. It requires a degree in engineering, decades of design and manufacturing experience, the skills needed to supervise hordes of employees (excuse me, “cast members”) and a love of international travel.
Long story short, the family is up and moving to Orlando. They’ve already found a house. They’re packing up the KC home. Everyone is so excited they are dancing on air.
Except me. I am torn between exuberance for my daughter and dread for a grandma left with no reason to go to children’s movies, take children back-to-school clothes shopping or buy children’s toys. The fact that they’re hardly children anymore does not ease my pain.
Sunday was my last Easter with them in their house (where I also lived for four years so as to be “on call,” day or night). Staring at my plate, alone in my misery, I thought I was safe, but the perky yet observant grandchild across from me pointed out that it looked like grandma’s eyes were watering.
That caused the floodgates to open and the adults at the table to express concern. When both children leapt to their feet to hug me, things only got worse. Pretty soon the entire dinner was ruined as I sat blubbering into my food, muttering incoherently about “Pampers to pimples” and becoming “irrelevant” to modern society.
But, as I mentioned previously, I am fine now. I think of all the money I’ll save on movies, back-to-school clothes, toys and gas. Shoot, between going to and from their house, to and from their school, and to and from the emergency room, I can take that trip to the Maldives I’ve never been planning. Heck, I don’t even know where the Maldives are.
Maybe I’ll buy a forever-pass for Walt Disney World. (Is there such a thing?)
Maybe I’ll adopt a teenager (or two).
Better yet, maybe I’ll have a baby, get written up in the Guinness Book of World Records and scare my friends.
Yeah. I like the sound of that last one.
See? “Every cloud has a silver lining.” Now, please excuse me while I get another box of tissues.
