Lenawee Smiles: A grandma has to know her limitations

Day Three: “Grandma, can I have French toast for breakfast?”

“Certainly, my Princess of 4:33 a.m., let me awaken from my two-hour respite, try to locate my blood pressure cuff, dirty bathrobe, your father’s slippers, and I will be right there.

We had had a rough night.

Part 1:Lenawee Smiles: Taking care of granddaughter more than expected

Annie watched from her high chair with gimlet eyes to ensure that I made no culinary errors in the preparation of this favorite food.

I had been told about butter. There was peanut butter, and there was butter-butter. There must be no mistaking which was which. Peanut butter was strictly for sandwiches and licking from a spoon.

Butter-butter was as treasured as the gold ingots stored in Fort Knox. One of Annie’s goals was to eat as much butter-butter as possible. I suspected she secreted it in her clothing, sneaking it into her mouth as the day went on.

I started to cut the French toast into pieces and got a corrective lecture from the high chair.

“No, that isn’t the way Mommy cuts it.”

Dear God. It is only 5:15 a.m., and I had already erred in toast cutting. The directions were concise and arcane. As I recall, each piece of square toast had to be cut first into four diagonal pieces and each of those into four more.

Then inverted so that the points were directed toward certain planets and in northeasterly and northwesterly directions. I had wondered about the astro globe in the corner.

“Grandma, I can put the butter on my toast by myself. Mommy always lets me.”

This statement came with theatrical gestures: twirling of hair, gazing at the ceiling and curling of toes. Hmmm.

“I think I will do it today,” I countered and spread a liberal amount of butter on the compass points of toast.

I didn’t know how fast this darling little creature could field-strip butter from toast. Her time that morning was roughly 18 seconds before she smiled at me and asked, “More butter-butter, please?”

I shuffled to the butter dish and applied more butter to the toast. I weakly proposed that having additional butter-butter meant that the toast upon which it rested had to be consumed.

My words not only fell on deaf ears but flew out the window and into the morning mist.

“More butter-butter, Grandma!”

I caved in one more time with appropriate caveats.

“More….”

“You are now in time out, Annie. Go to your room and get into your bed.”

“OK, Grandma,” my cherub smiled, and off she went singing, “More butter-butter, more butter-butter.”

I sat at the table, staring at my cup of cold coffee, watching the cream swirl into mysterious shapes. Was there a message coming through to me? Was I going mad?

Probably.

I cleaned up the kitchen and put away Annie’s plate of French toast with its congealed butter-butter and sugar sprinkles. I thought she might want it at 6:45 a.m.

From her bedroom down the hall and to the right, I could hear her continuing to sing her siren song: “More butter-butter, Grandma…” over and over this refrain went.

She wasn’t in time out, I was. She had manipulated this situation to her benefit. She could sing that song for hours and days. But I couldn’t listen to it for more than 12 minutes.

Pick your battles, I thought, as I went into her room. I found her standing on her bed, twirling her pearls in time with her chorus. I invited her to get dressed.

She again chose a curious but reasonable costume for a morning at the play park.

Annie finished her breakfast of cold French toast without incident. I found the play park with its swings, slides, teeter-totters and sand box. It also had a large log that small children could crawl through. Annie took advantage of all the opportunities and knew some of the other children playing at the park.

I took advantage of this time to sit and look dull.

A cry suddenly emerged from the log. I watched as Annie backed out of it, weeping.

She had scraped her knee. Injury No. 3 had struck. I wiped off the faint pink moisture, assured her she would not lose her leg, and we went home to get the first aid kit. After much nursing, cuddling, lunch, napping and reading, all was well.

Thus ended Day Three.

To be continued.

Susan Keezer lives in Adrian. Send your good news to her at lenaweesmiles@gmail.com.