“What’s the matter, don’t you know where you’re going?” My then 9-year-old grandson taunted me from the back seat of the car as he sat beside his younger twin brothers. I’m driving around North Dallas on a very hot summer’s afternoon, attempting to find Jump & Jack’s, an indoor play area where the kids could blow off some steam and where I could relax in air-conditioned bliss.
It’s mid-August and it’s a toasty 108 degrees outside. To say I am cranky from the heat would be an understatement. I had spent the last two weeks in the Lone Star state to help with the grandkids as my daughter-in-law recovered from surgery. It’s fair to say I’d forgotten just how much work handling young boys can be.
We’d been driving for about twenty minutes and there was still no fun establishment in sight. The gibing from the young man in the backseat had increased in frequency and volume. “I thought you knew this area. Why can’t you find this place? I thought you said you lived near here once. Don’t you know where you’re going? Are we just going to drive around all afternoon and not get anywhere?”
“Could you guys cut it out for a bit back there?” I pleaded. Boys being boys, they were pinching, poking and yelling at each other. I’m not sure who needed to blow off steam more, them or me.
“See, I told you - she doesn’t know where she’s going!”said the know- it -all, as I made yet another turn in quest of the elusive indoor playground. The twins chimed in, alternating with arguing among themselves and laughing derisively at Grandma.
Finally, I had enough. “If you guys don’t stop fighting and keep quiet, I’m going to do something drastic!” I yelled above the din. Between the heat, the blinding sun and the sheer volume of fighting I was done. “I have had enough from you boys today. I was trying to do something nice and all you do is make trouble. Now keep quiet or I will make you walk home!”
Undeterred, the taunting continued: “So, what are you going to do, leave us here? You can’t do that you know - it would be child abuse. It’s over 100 degrees outside and we would die walking in this heat. Wait until my parents hear about this!”
And, over the edge I went. I put on my turn signal and made a left turn onto a quiet side street. Stopping the car, I looked in the rearview mirror. “You think I’m kidding, don’t you? Well, think about this.” I turned off the engine, hit the unlock button on the childproof door locks and waited.
The result was instantaneous and, for the first time in two weeks, there was silence. I waited for about 30 seconds - I’m sure it seemed like an eternity to them - and started the engine, re-engaged the child-proof locks and drove on. Where to I wasn’t exactly certain, but I seemed to remember passing a Chuck E. Cheese a few blocks back and so headed there. Not only would the boys be kept busy playing video games and eating pizza, but I could also get a brief respite in cool splendor.
Anyone who has raised or babysat young boys can attest, they can be quite a handful. Add high temps and boredom and you have the ingredients for a pretty testy afternoon, one that was not soon forgotten.
Fast forward fifteen years and this incident remains one of my fondest, if not most hilarious, memories. All three boys are now grown, have responsible jobs and lives of their own. The days when they would come for a long visit over the holidays are in the rearview and so we were delighted beyond words when they decided to visit.
To say the least, I went into full “Grandma mode.” Lengthy texts to gather menu preference items flew back and forth. Did Mikey still like Dr. Pepper instead of Coke? Was Cinnamon roll-flavored oatmeal still a breakfast preference and did they prefer orange or apple juice? The expanse of my shopping list was beginning to rival the length of “War and Peace” when Grandpa interjected. “Perhaps you’re over-thinking this?” he lightly asked. “The boys will be just fine. They’ll be happy with whatever we offer.”
I took a deep breath and realized he was right. Our boys were coming to visit - that’s what was important. They are all grown up and I needed to be reminded of that. So, instead of worrying about finding chocolate chip pop tarts, now I just need to find the right Pinot Noir. They arrive tomorrow so I’d better hurry.
© 2024 Annie Sokoloff
My mom once ducked into the grocery store for her "moment of silence," leaving my dad and the three of us girls in the rented minivan in a Colorado parking lot. She came out, we headed home, and she made dinner on our ski week "vacation." After dinner, she brought out dessert: cookies with our names on them. But Dad’s cookie read ‘Dave’ instead of ‘Dad.’ He pointed it out with a grin, and we all had the best laugh. Now, ‘Dave’ is a permanent family member who shows up at every event. Just goes to show, the best memories can sneak up on you—even during a quick grocery run.