TRIGGER WARNING: This poem contains references to childhood trauma, gun violence, animal death and desecration, and disturbing imagery involving cruelty to animals. It reflects lived experience and may be distressing for some readers. Please read with care.
My grandson Julian (6 years old) found a giant fossilized megalodon tooth in the backyard today. He brought his prize to show me, and it was quite impressive. It is probably the biggest limestone shark tooth I have ever seen. I suggested he go show Grandad (91 years old) and get a second opinion. I don’t think Grandad played along as well as I did, so Julian took it back outside to do some more excavating and promptly misplaced it.
Speaking of teeth, Charlotte (my 10-year-old-in-8-days granddaughter) has a loose one—I believe it is #8, a canine. She likes to wiggle it in the mirror and point out that she only has 2 baby teeth left in her mouth. How time flies. I remember when she was first cutting her little tiny teeth on her bottom gums and we were super excited. Now she’s old enough that I spent over an hour on the phone with Apple tech support trying to get the parental controls set up on her phone so we could figure out which objectionable content to allow and which to block to help with internet safety. One issue was that I apparently set a password years ago and forgot it. We tried everything we could think of, but the Apple people were stumped. There was no fixing it. We finally gave up and decided it was unsolvable. A few hours later, on a whim, I typed in 1,2,3,4, and it worked. So embarrassing.
Julian brought me half a Mini Coke with a straw in it yesterday.
“Here you go, Ema. You can drink this because I joined the army and can’t drink sugar anymore.”
Woohoo! I like this game. Apparently, Charlotte was his drill sergeant and got him drinking water only. She had him working out and doing obstacle courses all day long. I bet his little muscles are sore today.
Charlotte convinced Julian to wear a bonnet to bed the other night like she does. Her curly coils have to be protected by a silky wrap at night to keep them from getting frizzy or damaged. Julian has the complete opposite texture hair. But with Charlotte’s application of who-knows-what-goo and some little twists here and there, Julian awoke with one or two curls on his head. He was very proud of them. I was impressed he made it all night in the bonnet.
This morning, Charlotte made Julian the Coraline breakfast special. I have never seen the movie Coraline, but Charlotte is obsessed with it. Julian lucked out. All by her little self, she made an egg and cheese omelet, 3 slices of bacon, and toast with jelly. It was a masterpiece. This is the same girl who melted onto the floor in a puddle the other day when I asked her to push the vacuum a few times. She literally did one strip of carpet before collapsing from the difficulty of the task. The next time she acts helpless, I’m going to remind her how capable she is when she wants to be.
Julian pulled a prank on us today. He was at the top of the stairs, and Charlotte and I were in the kitchen area.
Suddenly, we heard his pitiful little voice whimpering, “Help me, help me. I can’t see. Everything’s dark. I can’t see. I need help.” He was really laying it on thick.
Charlotte headed his way to see what kind of a bind he had gotten himself into this time. She returned just as quickly, marching with her hands on her hips, shaking her head and rolling her eyes. Julian appeared around the corner with his sweatshirt pulled up over his face like he was either trying to put it on or take it off; I’m not sure which. He was laughing so hard at his own joke that he ended up making us laugh, as well.
Grandad informed me that he was taking Charlotte to McDonald’s. She convinced him to take her to McDonald’s so she could spend her own allowance money on French fries. I tried not to be irritated. She already asked me and I said no. I told her to go make her own fries out of the perfectly good potatoes and oil we have here at home. They are easy to make in the air fryer. Grandad is a pushover when it comes to that girl. He was my grandfather first, and he never would have stopped what he was doing to take me to McDonald’s when I was a kid. He would have lectured me on saving my money and not begging all the adults all the time to take me places.
But honestly, I love that he has softened and spoils my grandchildren rotten (his great-great-grandchildren.) Every kid deserves at least one adult in their lives that is wrapped around their little finger. Mema was my person (Grandad’s wife of over 70 years and my grandmother.) She would do anything for me. Knowing that kind of love made me a strong woman who knows how to ooh and aah at shark teeth rocks and 10-year-old-in-8-days loose teeth for my own grandchildren. It all comes full circle if we put in the time and effort to be present in each other’s lives. And Charlotte is right that McDonald’s fries are way better than homemade. The girl knows her fries.
Grading papers is one of the least loved responsibilities of most teachers and certainly not a favorite pastime of mine.
It is probably one of the tasks I bid farewell with the most glee when I retired from teaching human beings and switched to AI.
Little did I know, I would be toiling over their interpretations of various responses to prompts, as I have for multiple decades, and with much the same amount of enthusiasm.
I will say, I have not been spit at, called any names, or felt the need to put an arm’s length of physical space between us, just in case, when giving feedback.
But I still get attitude, excuses, attempts at humor to deflect, shifting of blame, and half-hearted apologies, occasionally, to keep me on my toes.
Strawberry Shortcake was such a lovely girl who lived in Strawberryland and rode a pink bicycle.
Her kitty cat Custard and friends Lemon Meringue Blueberry Muffin Angel Cake Apple Dumplin’ Butter Cookie Mint Tulip Lime Chiffon Raspberry Tart Café Ole Plum Puddin’ Tea Blossom and Huckleberry Pie always had her back.
And that smell, oh, that delectable Strawberry Shortcake delicious scent, the aroma of childhood for a sliver of children born in the 70s early 80s.
Julian thinks he has blood burp, the kind where blood comes out of your body. We’re not sure if he needs to go to the hospital, or if he simply needs a glass of water. He said he burped like 1,000 times. He almost burped google plex. Do you know what google plex means? It means past infinity.
He’s busy playing the piano, and such beautiful music makes him wax contemplative. Try to guess that song, he says. Happy Birthday, I throw out on a whim. NO! It’s something that says uuuuhhhh. He’s learning to sound out words in Kindergarten and likes to point out the starting sounds of words to show how smart he is, like the color red – rrrrr, rrrrr, come on, guess it, he says. rrrrr, eeeee, dddd, red. R, E, D. Red.
Back to uuuuuhhhh. The name of his melancholic song. He is very offended that I can’t figure it out. Turns out, it’s Up from the movie. I think that is the saddest sounding song he can think of, and he wants to play something soulful. Now he’s banging in such a way that all the cats have run outside. He says the loud banging is from the movie, too. It’s the part where there’s singing. He’s done playing the piano.
Now he has my Wonder Woman sword and is practicing stabbing me in a variety of different ways. Through the underarm is his favorite because it comes out the other side and looks really realistic. Hey, wanna arm wrestle? he asks conspiratorially.
I’m not sure how normal our relationship is. This probably isn’t how most people imagine grandmothers and grandsons spend their time. But I don’t want to miss a second of it. What do you want for Christmas? I ask. Without missing a beat, Cristiano Ronaldo cologne from Amazon. Cologne? For a 6-year-old? Are you sure? He nods. What if it arrives and it’s stinky? It won’t be. Ronaldo always smells better than everybody all the time. My bad. I learn something every day.
These days, people are always on about girl dinner and boy dinner, but what about Mom dinner? That’s the meal where you get a spoonful of the stir-fry you are making to taste what seasonings are needed, a bite of each veggie as you chop it, a spoonful of baby food to show them how yummy it is, and one chicken nugget that was left on your child’s plate and looked forlorn all by its lonesome. You dip a carrot stick in ketchup and eat half a string cheese that was left on the counter by a kid. The last swig of backwash apple juice remaining in a sippy cup might be what you get to drink. Ask any Mom what a Mom dinner is and the same haggard face of recognition will nod in sympathy.
My little black cowgirl went to horse camp last week and discovered that there is a lot of work involved in caring for a girl’s best friend.
She doesn’t think she wants to run a ranch any time soon, or train for the rodeo, or even get a horse of her own because…labor.
Her favorite take aways were the cute jeans, the two- toned brown and pink cowgirl boots, the slow riding part of the adventure, and petting horses while others mucked the stalls.
@Home Studio – 162nd poem of the year
Runner ups for the Horse Girl photos to accompany my poem:
My granddaughter left a gift of lavender bath salts for me on my desk with a sweet little message written in half cursive half print on a sticky note. She left one for her DāDā, and probably everyone else in the house as well, because she loves to leave treats for others when she finds a way. I am glad my prickly, lovely, argumentative, emotional, explosive, beautiful, forgetful girl has a heart full of love.
rebekahjmarshall 