I have been yelling like a…well, a grumpy grandfather. It’s embarrassing really – yelling for quiet. But it’s necessary when you have a houseful of screaming kids.
I know my voice only added to the pandemonium, but I had to do something. The TV was blasting, an iPad was playing music and a naked 4 year old was running thru my den like a little streaker. When you add shrieks from two other children, there’s no way I could peacefully watch the ending of “Top Gun.” The cherry on the frustrating sundae came about when I got out of my chair to investigate the nudity and stepped on a Barbie doll – without clothes, of course. It felt like my bare foot had been stabbed with a Bowie knife.
This is what happens when three of my grandkids – who are all girls – spend the night with us. When Rilynne, who’s 12, Eva, who’s 8, and Addy, who’s 4, get together, it’s like a female version of “The Lord of the Flies.”
I asked for this. I raised three boys, but I desperately wanted a little girl. So I guess the Good Lord decided he would make it up to me by giving me four granddaughters. This is proof that God has a sense of humor.
It didn’t take me long to figure out that I am not equipped to handle girls. I love them dearly. And the affection they bestow on me is fantastic. But the drama…oh Lord, the drama.
With three boys, it’s pretty basic –- you tell them not to do something, threaten them and they comply. Or they sneak behind your back and do it anyway. When they get caught, you punish them – and that’s it. Not so with girls. There’s drama, tears that come out of nowhere and circular logic that is certain to torture a future husband in the years to come.
Me: “Didn’t I tell you to go and get the mail?”
Her: “Yes, but it’s too cold outside.”
Me: “What do you mean cold? It’s 65 degrees!”
Her: “Well that’s cold to me. I’ll get pneumonia. Why do you want me to get sick? I don’t want to go to the hospital. I hate shots!”
This is followed by sobs, tears and gasps. I have no mechanism to deal with this.
I digress. When I asked Addy why she took off her clothes and ran around the house, she told me her bathing suit had chafed her, and she wanted to show the boo-boo to her cousins. Ah, the innocence of youth. “We don’t run around naked,” I say. I suggested that she go and put some panties on. She nodded and headed into the bedroom.
Within seconds, my other two granddaughters were screaming in unison, “Noooo! Addy, stop!”
In an instant, Eva ran in the den, stood in front of me and said with a great deal of exasperation, “Granddaddy, Addy just did it again. She laid on the bed and showed us…everything! It was disgusting.” I just shook my head. I don’t think Tom Cruise had this much trouble shooting down enemy fighters.
There was only one thing to do – admit defeat and call in reinforcements. So I yelled to my wife, “Carol, can you please go in there, put some medicine on Addy’s…umm, boo-boo, and make sure she gets some clothes back on?” It wasn’t so much a request as a plea.
Within a few minutes order was restored. Addy had been treated and was finally fully clothed. Rilynne and Eva began to color. Now I can actually rewind “Top Gun” and watch young Tom Cruise kick some butt. The craziness is over for now.
Soon, it’s time for them to go, and in an instant they were all swept away from my house. I looked around and saw carnage everywhere. The den floor looked like their toy box exploded. The kitchen table was a menagerie of spoons, half eaten PBJs and glasses of chocolate milk. I found a kiddie yogurt container someone sneaked into our bedroom.
And then I noticed something else – silence. Empty, sad, deafening silence.
Hmmm. I wonder when they’re coming back over again?
Joe Hobby is a barbecue-loving comedian from Alabama who wrote for Jay Leno for many years. Find more of Joe’s stories on his blog: https://mylifeasahobby.blogspot.com. Follow him on Facebook at Joe Hobby Comedian-Writer.
