Grandpa,....Why Do You Go Plopies With The Door Locked? Grandpa? Gran...
First off let me start by saying I love my grandchildren. The most precious jewel you can have around your neck is the arm of a grandchild. But, a three year old with a never ending source of 'WHYS', that isn't interested in an answer, and will only interject another 'WHY' when you've run out of breath trying to answer the first 'WHY' and who does not tolerate a hinged solid barrier on the bathroom, can be, and sometime is, a nuisance.
I mean I can't remember the last time I made plopies in the last year that hasn't been accompanied by a constant barrage of banging. "Grandpa why is the door locked? " Bang! Boot! Bang! Shasplat! (what the heck was that?) Then come desperate verbal needs. "Grandpa I need a drink! .....No you gave me juice I need water! Grandpa I need to go plopies too!" ( at this juncture the vein that's about to pop in your forehead recedes, and you opt out of what your desperately trying to do.) Grandpa I have to go now!" Bang! Boot! Bang! Shasplat! (there it is again!). All the while doing your best to control your breathing, getting your pulse back to normal, after all the gut busting internal pushing, while finding the air freshener, the wife hides away and only brings out for company "Grandpa why is the door locked? Grandpa! Why can't I get in ?Grandpa!!! I wanna see! ( WHAT? Who is this kid, what kind of parents has she got?) Bang! Boot! Bang! Shasplat! "Rope Rope Rope" (ah...she throwing the dog at the door.)
The reason this is a constant in my life is because the Good Lord has made it possible for me to daycare my granddaughter. A great source of pleasure to me and the wife, but a colon blocking interruption to my constitution.
You know the feeling you get in your stomach? That queasy kind of thank goodness I'm not over at the Jensens, with their guest bathroom right by the room we all visit in. And its not a room filled with loud boisterous party music, but one occupied by quiet silent prayer over the loss of a loved one. The one where your stomach tells you you should go home NOW cause if you don't, you and your future generations can never visit these people again. That feeling?..... Well I don't have that. I'm at the age where thought, pressure, the passing of time and quiet must prevail in order for plopies to transpire.
Knowing this, and when the time arises, I set my granddaughter up with everything she could possibly need, in front of the TV so I can escape to make.....well you know. "Okay Charlotte I've started your favorite show on the TV ( the one she's seen 42 times), you've got juice, two snacks and Lollipop the lamb plus your favorite blanket ( now a rag) Loulou (she names everything!) Does grandpa need to get you anything else?"
Not a word from her, she's lost in an episode of Max and Ruby. It's the one where Max.....? I don't know! He does something! I can't remember I've only seen it 41 times.
Quickly, quietly I make my escape. Stepping over the dog I close and lock (and here lock is important) the bathroom door. My cheeks have not yet conformed to the cool, soothing, molded plastic of the American Standard Harvest Gold toilet seat, when the siege begins. Now you may think "So what! It's a three year old, get a grip!"
True, she is only three, but, I have seen Mongol hoards on horseback attack a walled city with less enthusiasm than this pre-schooler does on a bathroom door.
It starts with that annoying rattling and twisting of the door knob "Grandpa? You in there?" And ends ten minutes later after much pleading begging and reasoning from both parties. The bathroom door now hangs on one hinge and all the squares on the toilet paper roll are equal to the amount I sat down beside moments ago. I'll just wait till she takes a nap, or next time sneak out and use the can at the gas station. At least there I can reason with a would be intruder, and they probably don't want to come in and see....... Or? Oh well...at least I don't have to make him a snack.
Bob Niles.
bobby did this
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