Jackie Wells-Fauth
“Grandma, my brother ate all the toaster strudels, and he didn’t even ask if anyone else wanted any,” was a familiar tune at my house last week, letting me know it was grandson week at the Fauths.
It has been a visiting tradition of such long standing that I can’t remember the first time I had grandsons out in the summer for a week, but I’m pretty sure they were still in diapers to start with. It is important to me that they come and that they want to come, but when they do, I am always reminded of a friend who once said, “I love it when my grandchildren visit; and I love it when they go home!”
My boys are good men, and the week is always filled with little projects, or computer games or kite and plane flying. They are full of exciting conversations, adventurous stories about their previous school year, and the best games of War go down during boys week.
This time, we hit the river for swimming (they like it, but always feel Splash Central is better), had several meals out at my favorite places and made it to the traditional supper and a movie. We also played non-stop Minecraft, worked non-stop with Legos and watched Trash Truck until I didn’t even mind that the garbage truck (the star of the show) donned a tutu and did ballet with his little human friend. I will admit I’m still having disturbing dreams about it, though.
Because there are three boys now and one of them is four and a half, interactions were sometimes tense.
“Emmett, you are an idiotbutt,” one would say.
“I am not an idiotbutt,” protested the youngest.
“Aha! You said idiotbutt, I’m telling Mom,” exclaimed the last one.
By the time I had called for silence to point out that everyone had said…the forbidden word…the irritation level was high.
On the ride home, the four-year-old discovered that he could irritate his older brothers by tooting like a train. This went on for about 50 miles before the two older ones finally cracked under the strain and eased their shattered nerves in a name-calling contest with each other. That’s when I made my mistake.
“Okay, you two are going to say something nice about each other or not talk,” I declared, raising my voice over the tooting.
“You are nice,” snarled one of them.
“You are awesome,” spit out the other.
“No way, you are going to say something specifically nice about each other,” I declared piously.
The 12-year-old snapped his jaws together and looked out the window.
“Well?” I said to the older one.
Through his teeth he growled, “Give me a minute, I’m trying to think of something!”
It was at this point the car began swaying dangerously. I looked over and their grandfather, at the wheel, was convulsed with silent laughter.
It was then I wondered how many years I’d get if I smothered them all with a pillow or shoved them out of a moving car. I would accept whatever sentence the judge wanted to impose…as long as he/she sat in a car and listened to a four-year-old toot like a train for 50 miles first. I would want to establish state of mind!
The boys have gone home and my house is so silent and non-fun. It really was a wonderful week and I’m looking forward to the next visit. I decided that in honor of them, I would eat the last two toaster strudels.
“Hey, you ate the last of the toaster strudels and didn’t even ask if I wanted some,” I said to Roy while staring at the empty box.
Boys week is always better if we have learned something new to fight over!
dropsinthewell 