…when sometimes doing my best just isn’t good enough
I’m always excited to find and purchase new toys that will thrill my much-loved grandchildren.
The thing of it is, my grandtwinkies are toddlers; therefore, they’re somewhat fickle in nature. What’s considered fabulous one day might be decidedly unfabulous the next.
Witness the time I thought I was onto a delightful retro toy that would amuse my grandson for many happy hours, if not multiple minutes.
What was that toy? Mr. Potato Head.
I had even planned on being the voice of the aforementioned Mr. Potato Head, which I was convinced he’d really get a kick out of. How wrong I was.
I never even got my hand on the spud because it all went wrong from the get-go.
When my precious little grandboy opened the gift bag he screamed, “No, no, no! No, potato! No, potato! No, potato! Ahhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhh,” as he ran away.
Okay. No problem. I’m open to the learning.
Next time we hung out together I went with practicality. I purchased a “fun” toothpaste the manufacturer promised would “dazzle” as much as it would “delight.”
(Note to self: I need to work on what constitutes fun.)
(Note to manufacturer: You need to work on what constitutes dazzling and delighting.)
Why I thought brushing our teeth together with a touted-as-kid-friendly toothpaste would be a good time is anybody’s guess.
What began as a cute photo op with us standing together in front of the bathroom mirror, enjoying our foamy bonding moment, quickly turned ugly.
In the time it took to begin the “one Mississippi, two Mississippi” counting sequence for our oral hygiene session he screamed, “No, no, no! It’s spicy! It’s spicy! It’s spicy! Ahhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhh,” as he ran away.
Will he remember I held him for hours on multiple occasions when he was a baby, crying nonstop?
Huh-uh.
How about that magical moment when I gave him his first look at Christmas lights, and he lit up brighter than they did?
Nah.
Or what about the scores of stories I’ve read to him since birth, acting out the parts for his amusement and mine?
Nope.
I’m pretty danged sure what he’ll remember is that I gifted him with a “killer” potato and had him brush his teeth with hot sauce before his third birthday. That’ll be it.
Mimi of the Year. That’s me. (Sigh!)
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Diane Dean-Epps, Writer 