Yesterday, Cindy gave me the assignment of watching the two youngest grandsons (ages 1 & 2), while she packed to take the boys back to Martha’s in Missouri. She also had to pack for Evangeline’s and Justina’s oldest daughters to take them on to a holiness camp meeting in Searcy, AR, where we met Myrna about a decade ago.
Packing for three girls was quite a job for Cindy, because the ladies are expected to wear a different outfit for each morning and evening session. At least so Myrna says. Travelling with Myrna was like travelling with a wardrobe. She had 14 different outfits, no jeans or shorts.
I am hanging around home because I had to teach the adult Sunday School lesson and have my Bible Study Tuesday morning after which I will drive to meet Cindy and the granddaughters at the old fashion camp meeting, which everyone ought to experience.
Anyway, Cindy had a lot of work to do, so the grandfather had to entertain the grandsons. Now this was an unknown task for me, since I raised five daughters and no sons.
One thing I noticed about the brothers, which I deeply appreciate, is that they get along well together. The older does not pick on the younger, which may be a calculated move on his part because it appears that the younger will soon be bigger and huskier than the older.
The first hour was spent in the family room, which operates as a second play room, when the grandchildren visit. They have so many toys available that they quickly go from one to another. I thought to myself, “Too bad we don’t have cotton fields; I could send them outside to pick cotton, where they could productively spend their energy and learn discipline.”
The second hour I took them out on our porch, which spans the front of our house. Most of the time the boys spent running back and forth the length of the porch.
I observed that the oldest, Hudson, already is a self-imposed goal setter. One of these goals was to ride the concrete lions, which guard our entry. Afterwards, he cried out, “I did it.” He said that a number of times during his visit. Sometimes I wasn’t sure what he had accomplished. Nevertheless, he reminded me of my favorite boyhood story from the Golden Books, “The Little Engine That Could.” Hudson recalls to me that little blue engine that was able to climb the mountain because he thought he could.
While the boys were running and examining every thing on the porch, including my fountain and even the little stems falling from the trees, I picked weeds. I can’t stand weeds in my garden. Hudson decided he would help me. Alas, he picked the flowers instead of the weeds. I am going to have to teach that boy discernment.
Hudson is very outgoing and friendly; he rushes to hug grandfather numerous times throughout the day almost knocking me down on some occasions. On the other hand, I could not get Nixon to even sit on my lap until during this porch time when he reached out to me for the first time. I sang the old limerick to him, “Trot, trot to Boston to buy a loaf of bread; trot, trot home again the old horse is dead.”
Hudson wanted to get into the action so I was soon bouncing both of them on my knees and singing until I was ready to drop dead. Before that happened, Cindy came to my rescue and when they saw the grandmother, it was all over for the grandfather. So, what was a grandfather to do now? Take a nap, of course.