THE JOY OF GRANDKIDS…..UNTIL YOU ADD PLAY-DOH

I’m entering my 4th year of grandfatherhood.   It is what I would call an exhausting blessing.  We now have a three year old, a two year old, and a seven month old.  We visit and babysit them frequently.   Somehow it is simultaneously the joy of my life and the possible end of it.

How did I ever keep up this pace when my own children were little?  We transition without rest from hide and seek, to race cars, to floor wrestling, pillow fights, to backyard swing set, to book reading, to wagon ride, to playground visit, to community swimming pool…..and that’s just before lunch!  Thank goodness for naps! (mine, not the kids)

(A footnote here:  As much as I do with the grands, my wife Sharon does three times as much.  Remind me to check what this woman puts in her cereal.)

Through it all, the smiles, the giggles, the hugs and the occasional “I love you K-pa” (that’s my grandpa  name) are the light of my life.  Even a return to the dreaded changing of the diapers is somehow okay.  There’s something  magical about staring into the eyes of an infant, wondering what they’re thinking,  doing something silly to make them burble as they lay on their backs on the changing table.  I have also rediscovered the ability  to breath while completely shutting off my sense of smell, a necessary skill during this unpredictable process.

So what’s not to love about being a grandparent right?…..right?……well, there is one thing.  The mood drastically changes when I hear one of them utter those fearful words:  “K-pa, let’s get out the Play-Doh!”

Now, I don’t know who invented this stuff, but I’m fairly sure it was someone with a sick sense of humor who also hates grandparents.   For those who don’t know, Play-Doh is a strangely amorphous substance that feels squishy and, using various cutters of different design, can be shaped into basically anything.  It can then be re-squished,  and formed into something else.  It comes in three different colors, red, green and blue.  It’s been around since I was a kid.  Sounds harmless enough right?

Oh sure.  That’s what they’d like you to believe.  But it’s only a matter of time before the kiddos start:  (1) Putting it in their mouths (2) Putting it in somebody else’s mouth (3) Dropping it on the floor (4) Stepping on it after dropping it on the floor (5) Getting it all over their clothes (6) Sticking it in little brother’s ears (7) mixing the colors (8) Throwing it at frazzled grandparents (9) Fighting over who has the most (10) and generating billions of tiny Play-Doh specks that show up on silverware, food, and furniture for weeks to come.  I swear these little globs have learned to reproduce.

The average Play-Doh session ends with meticulous clean-up of entire rooms including sweeping, mopping, vacuuming and, when desperate, licking your finger tip and trying to swipe a morsel out of the crack in your hardwood floor panel.  (Oh, like you wouldn’t do it.)

You can try hiding it somewhere but grandkids have been endowed with a mystical 6th sense that enables them to determine the location of Play-Doh from a distance of at least ten meters.  Once within range, there is an autonomic system in their little bodies that prepares to launch an ear-splitting crying reaction if you try to deny the Play-Doh is near.  The only solution is to drive the substance several miles away and destroy it by fire.  Even then you’re only safe until the next birthday when a well meaning relative will present them with the gift of another batch.

Oh well, maybe it’s worth it to see the delight on their faces as they present you with a Play-Doh hot dog that they have fashioned, expecting you to actually eat it.

Come to think of it, that may be the only way you get rid of it.