“Grandma, come!” The chubby little hand grabbed mine. “Wanna see the dinosaur again?” Of course I didn’t but followed my 4-year-old grandson to the archeological exhibit… again.
Since I live almost a thousand miles from my grandchildren, I make up for lost time when I visit, and this year’s annual winter trip to St. Louis was no exception.
My grandchildren are growing up. Eight-year-old Natalie is in third grade which means sleepovers, gymnastics and homework. Colin and Cami are 4, still not out in the world, but kindergarten looms close.
I’m proud to say that I’ve matured as a grandmother, realizing that my grandchildren might not be the smartest and the best-looking on the planet, but if they aren’t, they are a very close second.
I went to Natalie’s gymnastics meet and upgraded my obnoxious Grandma status while cheering. (I wasn’t any louder than the other grandmothers.) I played Legos with Colin and was the emcee/ announcer while Cami modeled outfits from the “play-dress” box.
The most interesting activity was visiting MySeum with Betsy and the twins. This is an establishment best described as a 21st century fun house. For a fee, children can spend all day involved in a variety of activities. They can create huge soap bubbles, jump in bouncy houses, drive virtual cars, the list is endless.
One of the activity rooms was set up as an archeological dig, complete with magnifying glasses and various rocks and pretend fossils under a bed of wood chips. Colin was captivated with brushing away chips to find these “ancient treasures,” so it was here that I followed him for his second session. I watched until he finally tired of this activity.
We meandered over to the “zoo veterinary” clinic, a room filled with crates holding stuffed animals and their stuffed animal offspring. Here Cami, along with several other children, was busy nurturing them. I chuckled at her devotion to her giraffe
“patient” when suddenly a grandfather and grandson burst into the room.
My grandma antenna immediately went up as the little boy dashed in, oblivious to others, and grabbed all the baby animals the children were playing with. He then piled them in a pretend incubator and began tending them. Dumbfounded at this rude behavior, I looked at the grandfather. This is where he was supposed to step in and tell his grandson not to take other children’s toys.
Grandpa did nothing, just proudly watched his grandson. More than dumbfounded, I cast another look, this time with beady eyes, at Gramps. He ignored me. His grandson continued hogging all the toys in the room.
Cami, confused, looked to me for help.
I gave Gramps one more frown before my inner obnoxious Grandma took over. No one was going to do this to my granddaughter! I strode over to the domineering little boy who was busy checking stuffed animal ears and heartbeats and said in a firm voice, “You took care of the babies. Now they need to go back to their mothers.” Scooping them up, I began returning the stuffed animals to the rest of the children.
Finally, Grandpa roused out of his stupor, caught the hint and muttered something to his grandson about “letting the other children also play.”
Giving him a final glance that said “Ya think?” I stood protectively near Cami until Gramps and his offspring left the room.
It felt good to have an obnoxious inner self. (My husband suggested another word.)
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