Ants in the Applesauce

The grandkids were back in town and patience was the order of the day if I was to endure, grow, and prosper alongside my favorite ragamuffins.  Some older folks are just naturally built for the rigorous task of entertaining, educating and caring for their grandchildren. For me it’s a learned response (taught by the master) and ever-changing lesson plans I keep trying to follow.

It’s ants in the Applesauce in the age of intolerance.  ‘Ants’ was a childish game we played while trying to find ants in our applesauce each morning. Of course, there weren’t any ants but it brought smiles and chuckles all around the breakfast table. The intolerance part comes from an observation about my own generation.

When the ‘Mongolian horde’ descended upon our place this Christmas my world went from quiet and serene to loud, chaotic and messy.  In such a world, things sometimes get broken or misplaced or out of order. It was all part of their vacation package along with pool time, games, readings, bowling and wonderful moments with Nana and Papa. As adults we got all of that as well as late night gab sessions with our own children and their spouses. We were always able to find those rare moments snatched from the constant din that mixed quiet time, quality time or just plain time spent with the grandchildren. It was a treasure for the youngsters that no amount of money or presents could equal…even if they didn’t know it at the time.

But all of that chaos can sometimes hard for some folks my own age.  I’ve observed a growing reluctance among some oldsters to dive into the cloudy pool of noise and confusion and the ten minute attention span. Understandably, they’d like their lives to be orderly, predictable and quiet. Many feel they’ve earned it. With kids lurking about it’s just the opposite. 

It’s not easy being shaken out of one’s routine for a week of organized chaos.  Many of us get set in our ways and it’s difficult to pry ourselves loose from our comforting regimen of daily life. However, it’s necessary if you want to savor the full impact of five high-energy monkeys living under your roof for seven solid days and nights.

 Fortunately, we all survived and even created a couple of new traditions along the way.  The old tradition of the ‘bear hunt’ on the golf course with Uncle B has now been seconded by ‘morning coffee with Papa’ for each one of the grandchildren. While Papa gets his regular large light roast and a pastry, each child gets their hot Coco with marsh mellows and whipped cream. And, of course, a pastry of their choice. 

Exploring Joshua Tree National Park in a snowstorm was another big hit and will probably be the precursory to further adventures afar.  Perhaps yet another tradition has been born.

Each day brought a plethora of both organized and spontaneous events.

A puppet show with hand puppets.  Maya was the mysterious MC.

Visiting a fire station just down the block

Picking oranges for juice in the morning

Story telling from an original story written by Maya

Bowling

Lots and lots of reading to the kids

 

Picking lemons for lemonade in the afternoon

A special wine-tasting event for the adults

 

Watching TV while the adults relaxed

 and hours of pool time for everyone.

I asked Charlotte one morning at coffee what the best thing about her week was.  Of course I envisioned our trip to Joshua tree or picking oranges or pool time.

Instead, in her best cherub voice, she answered “Running.”

“What do you mean?”  I asked.

“Mommy and Daddy won’t let Bro and I run around in the house at home.”

‘Of course’ I thought, ‘here you and Brennen and your cousins can mimic Santa Anita race track and most of the time, no one says anything.’

I guess if the real goal of that week was to leave a legacy of memories then the kids get to choose what they want to remember. If besting a thoroughbred is what Charlotte remembers most then who am I to judge?