Saturday, 27 July 2013


She may not have reached the magic age,  but my granddaughter is already in the terrible twos.
I remember the phase well. It's the "do the opposite" phase.
No sooner does grandma tells her to keep her sticky hands off the remote than she's grabbing it, sliming it and running with it. Tell her to stay away from the barbeque and she's got her head in it. Ask her not to play with her food and she mangles it, smears it on her face and then drops it.
She won't let me comb her hair. She sticks her tongue out to push out the broccoli so it lands on the floor and she pulls Gordie's tail.
And just, just when Grandma is getting ready to send her off into the corner, she does a little jig and all is forgiven.
All I can say is "could be worse".
Her father was a real piece of work at this age. We had to put an alarm on his door because he would get up in the middle of the night, go to the pantry and eat Kool Aid by the handful. Put him to bed and he'd crawl out onto the floor, his head against the door, so we couldn't get in to check on him.
What else did he do?
Drank a whole bottle of cough syrup when I was giving his brother a bath. Cut the tip of his finger off with a soup can lid. Fall and blacken his front teeth against the bathtub.
It seems like only yesterday, as we geezers like to say.
So here ya go, Nick.
Here's your own bundle of joy.
Keep the cold compresses handy.
Ready the bandaids.
Keep her out of the hospital for as long as possible.

No comments:

Post a Comment