Some fourteen years ago, when older daughter Amy announced that she was pregnant with our first grandchild, I was both ecstatic and a tad nervously hesitant. A grandfather?! Seriously?! At this stage in my life? Am I even old enough to be a grandfather … officially?!
The old blog post below explains (in excruciating detail) how I ended up being called “Abu” (Abuelo = Grandfather) by that first grandchild Daniel—and all the other ones who came later.
Younger daughter Emily is a whiz at making custom t-shirts, so she recently created these two for Robert and me. Grandson Daniel came up with the idea of calling Robert “Rbu” to go along with my “Abu,” making us a weirdly matching set.
So today I decided I really needed to do something about my limp, flyaway, graying hair.
I’m frustrated because, well, I’m beginning to look my age. And, you know, that just doesn’t seem natural. So I consulted the online Yellow Pages for area barbers and hair salons and read about an intriguing little place out near Skidaway Island (I’m in Savannah, by the way) called … The Babies Hair Salon.
I drove over, parked Skedaddler (my lil gray Scion) (gray seems to be a theme in my life lately) (just not fifty shades of it) (yet) and found myself being promptly greeted by, believe it or not, two surprised-looking BABIES! Ten-month-old twins Madison and Matthew …
When he saw my hair, I got the impression that Matthew had initial concerns about his and his sister’s ability to help me …
Perhaps Madison had the same concern, but she tried to mask her feelings with a blank stare.
Nevertheless, the duo led me into their salon’s inner sanctum.
“I’m beginning to see a color scheme here,” I thought perceptively and intelligently.
Matthew and Madison took a moment to look through their style books to see what they might be able to do for me.
“This is definitely going to be a challenge,” they seemed to be saying.
I felt my first tiny jolt of trepidation when I realized they were looking at books about cows and sheep.
With determination set clearly upon their young but professional countenances, the twins indicated for me to help them up into their work spaces.
“An odd request,” I thought. “They don’t do that at the Barber Pole downtown.” But, the completely compliant client, I obeyed.
And for about sixty seconds, everything seemed to be going well. Just typical stylist assessment techniques such as cranial observation and exploratory scalp manipulation.
Then, inexplicably, I got the distinct impression that Madison was somehow asking Matthew to consult with the monkeys on the wall about the next step.
But before I had time to investigate, they got to work.
“This might be fun,” I thought, kinda smiling.
Madison gently massaged in soothing hair cream.
Then they both started to get a little rough, I thought, for ten-month-olds.
Seemingly out of the blue, I sensed a frustrated Matthew yelling to Madison, “Enough of this, sissy! There’s no way to help this old man!”
“Bite him!” she might have said.
“What going on here?!” I thought in terror. “Are they baby vampires or something? Nick at Twilight?! Whatever. I’m outta here.”
As Skedaddler and I hightailed it back to Savannah’s historic district where I live across from Colonial Park Cemetery, I looked in my rearview mirror and thought, “You know, gray’s not such a bad color. It’s kinda in-between.”
(Thanks to Grandtwins Matthew and Madison for help with this post. And the iPhone’s reverse camera.)
It’s Cinco de Mayo weekend, so let’s be happy! Here are five more reasons I’m smiling.
2. Getting good deals at the Dollar Tree.
(And being patriotic at the same time.)
3. Grandson Daniel trying to get Grandtwin Matthew to patty cake. (Wait a sec, is it pat-a-cake?)
4. Learning (great emphasis on “learning”) to go with the flow, instead of fighting against it.
5. Grilling pork chops the other night and creating a NealEnJoy Marinadewith apple butter and Dale’s Seasoning. Yum, yum, yum! But I ate them before I thought to take a picture to show you. I considered snapping a quick photo of my belly, but I couldn’t stretch my iPhone out far enough for the reverse camera thingy to get my midsection so bloated. So I thought to myself, “You know, you could probably ‘Google image’ (I just created a new verb!) a pic that would pass as your NealEnJoy marinated pork chops, and, really, who would know?” But after the Googling, I was bamboozled by all the pork chop pictures that came up.
This could be a picture, for example, of my chops …
… except they are in a frying pan. But that frying pan does look like one of mine.
And don’t these look good?
And these remind me SO MUCH of how my mama used to fry pork chops for supper.
Then the Internet surfing got weird. Here’s a man grilling pork chops with his standing dog watching.
And I discovered that Republican politicians absolutely LOVE pork chops. Here’s Mitt Romney eating one.
And Texas Governor Rick Perry.
And would you believe it? Here’s John McCain eating a pork chop too.
Not to mention Rudy Giuliani.
I started to call somebody to report my findings about partisan pork, but I didn’t know who. Then, lo and behold, guess who popped up chowing down on a chop?!
And a pork sandwich.
Fifteen minutes and gobs of chop pics later, I started to smell more pork. Then out jumped an advertisement of Miss Piggy hawking her line of perfume called … yep, Pork Chops.
Enough of this foolishness. May we all flow into a beautiful weekend ahead.
Most awkwardly funny moment of the holiday so far–wait, let me set the scene. We were in the incredibly beautiful and highbrow lobby of the Ritz-Carlton–Buckhead in Atlanta over the weekend. Just past these Dickensian carolers:
Resplendent Santa standing by the fireplace, creating a perfect Christmas tableau, with adoring children all around. Without warning and with great, earnest conviction, five-year-old grandson Daniel yelling, “He’s a Fake!” His parents threatening loss of Christmas coming.