I Can’t Peel an Egg while I’m Driving and Other Things I Thought I’d Never Have to Say Again

Though some strange turn of events which I might explain later or maybe never at all, we are taking care of our four-year-old granddaughter, for a while or for longer than a while, we don’t know.

We did a variation of this several years ago so we know the drill of suddenly turning one’s life upside down to accommodate Play-Doh and Barbies. Another grandchild spent a lot of time growing up here, that one is now twenty and, I hope, willing to help out with the new one.

It makes my head spin.

Today, at the playground, our granddaughter quickly made friends with a little girl and her brother who had just been given a bubble gun. (Is that what they call them? Sounds so fierce.) There were bubbles and glee everywhere. Chasing and so much happiness. So, then, the process of telling her we had to leave the park to pick up Grandpa became tricky. She came along. Unhappily. But still compliant until she realized that she’d left her Barbie under the swing. And then when I fetched the Barbie it seemed like she’d lost her pants or her skirt or something so then the mom of the bubble kids started to look for the tiny clothing which was not to be found because it wasn’t missing after all which is the run-on nonsensical sentence that is the entire gist of being with children, if you ask me.

I’m not a natural but I try.

I wouldn’t say this situation has been foisted on us, but it feels larger than expected. I can do all the things I need to do. Unwrap the Barbie, cut the tiny threads of plastic around her neck with a key, spread out a paper bag for Play-Doh, find the Christmas cookie cutters and the rolling pin to play with, pour a bowl of cereal, find paper and the good brush. Flush the toilet.

But it seems harder than when I did it before. Like I’ve been sitting in a La-Z-Boy for a couple of hours and then got up to run around the block five times. Strenuous.

Oh well. Time to tone up those weak muscles and haul out all the old phrases. It’s so true. You can’t peel an egg when you’re driving unless you’re a way better grandparent than I am.