Selfishly Stomping My Carbon Footprint

I have long since lost the ability to effectively plan how to get two small children to any event. Yet, today, despite numerous trips back to the house for forgotten toys and snacks and books and despite heavy traffic, I was very, very early to a play group planned by Aunt Justine at her church.

As our car approached the church, I took one look at the parking lot and saw that no one else had yet arrived. Marshall was asleep, so I did the only sensible thing--I kept driving. 

Five minutes later, Adella asked, "Are we there yet, Granma?"

"Soon," I replied, as I turned the car around. 

When I passed the parking lot a second time, there was still no one else there, so, once again, I sensibly kept driving. And I began to worry that the members of this play group would be late--on Mormon Standard Time, which is anywhere from ten to thirty minutes late.  We drove a full ten minutes in the other direction.

I saw in my rear view mirror that Adella's eyes were very heavy. 

"Are we there yet?" she asked again, adding, "I don't want to fall asleep or I will miss the music lady  and Jimbo."

"It's o.k. if you want to take a short nap," I suggested. "I promise I will wake you up when we get there." 

Of course, this promise came from a shifty grandma who kept assuring Adella we were almost there. I was reminded of all those evenings, years ago, just at dusk, when I used to strap her mother and her uncle into their car seats, duplicitously promising them we were heading to Lewis Morris Park to count the deer. I had not changed in nearly thirty years. I was still selfishly stomping my carbon footprint in a get-a-child-to-sleep-quick scheme.

In my defense, I was tired. My little grandbabies appear at my door at 6:30 in the morning and today I had found it a Herculean task to simply take a shower and dress myself with two little ones in tow, much less to feed and dress and get them out the door before 9 o'clock. I really was just hoping Adella would nod off, so I could take a quick nap in the parking lot before the other parents and children arrived.

But Adella was as determined to stay awake as I was to try and get a catnap. I decided to drive past the church once more.

"Granma," Adella said, "I've seen that school before. And that building too! Why are we going by it again?"

Busted.

I pulled into the parking lot of that building, the church. By then there was another car, another newcomer to the group who had arrived early. 

Fate, or rather an observant grandchild, kept me from my nap. At least the playgroup was a great success--Adella and Marshall were the first to arrive and the last to leave.

True Confessions on New Year's Day

As soon as Adella saw me today at church, she confessed. "I have your clock."

She does not need the clock. She has no conception of time--six o'clock is no different for her than midnight or noon, and she is just learning to comprehend the difference between yesterday, today, and tomorrow. Yet she finds the small clock irresistible, perhaps because she can hold it in her hands, watch the second hand rotate and hear it ticking the seconds away. The clock has a habit of migrating on the days when she visits. This was the first time it had emigrated from the house.

"You mean Pop pop's little red alarm clock?" I asked.

Scott had asked me last night if I knew where it was. Normally one does not need to worry about an alarm clock on New Year's Eve, but we did have to be at church at nine o'clock on New Year's Day.

"Yes." Exuberantly she added, "I brought it back to give to you. It's in my car."

"I am so happy," I replied, adding, "because Grandpa really needs his alarm clock." That was an understatement. Scott is a creature of habit, especially when it comes to his sleep habits. He does not like to vary his sleep routine, and having his little red alarm clock by his bed is a critical part of that routine.

So I thought I would enlist her help. "Adella," I said, "Pop pop's clock is very, very special to him. Do you think we could find some place to put that clock so it does not get lost, some place where it would not get moved?"

She thought a moment. "I know," she replied. "We could put it in Granma's room next to her bed, so Jimbo won't get it."

Scott and I could hardly contain our laughter. It was not her cousin Jim that we were worried about. He does not have sticky fingers. My question, which I had hoped would instill a little self-regulation in Adella, clearly had missed the mark.

Oh, what an appropriate reminder for me on New Year's Day, a day of reflection and resolution. Like me, Adella has no hesitancy confessing her faults. Unfortunately, also like me, she has no hesitancy shifting the blame for her shortcomings to others. Unlike me, she is only four years old. Here's hoping I will put several decades of life experience to good use and finally make some progress on my New Year's resolutions.