{The Welcome Home}

I’m feeling a bit rusty.

Since my last post, my days have been less pathetic than normal, so I haven’t had as much drive to update the blog. It’s amazing how my pitiful loneliness really kicked my writing skills into gear. I don’t think I’ve put that much effort into a tapestry of words since my flash-in-the-pan as an actual, paid-by-the-hour, investigatory journalist. You may recognize me now … I was the one proclaiming the important news like what 8-year-olds think about Valentine’s Day or the details of an old lady’s bubble gum collection ... you know, the real breaking news. But that’s a full 17 months that we’d all be better to just forget.

As I was saying though, many things have happened as of late. Most importantly – the trampoline is fixed! This is good for everybody. Grandpa no longer asks about it and I may bounce to my pleasure.

Next up, Jordan is home for good! While it’s exciting to be married again, this is also very good for the daily Grandpa-Lindsey interactions. Now we can tag-team. When I don’t think I can chat any longer about the neighbor who may or may not be in the hospital {or dead…we’re not exactly sure what happened there}, I can defer all questions to Jordan and it’s like a whole new way of life. I let him jump right in and I can go back to doing my crossword puzzles.

Since Jordan decided to give up the estranged lifestyle, I’ve had a lot more drive to do life’s funner things and almost completed my first crossword without googling the clues.  It was wild.

Despite all the changes around here, many things are the same and Jordan is quickly getting reacquainted with the grandpa lifestyle.

I’m not sure what Jordan wore to bed for the past three months, but at grandpa’s house, it’s always a good idea to be fully clothed at all times. The old man often likes to “check in” before bedtime. Throughout the summer, grandpa would occasionally peak through my bedroom door at about 11 p.m., flick on the light – I’d try to pretend he didn’t wake me out of a dead sleep and burn out my retinas with the unexpected flood of luminosity – and we’d say goodnight. {These days, I’m not as lame and can stay up past 10:13 p.m., just so you know.} Now that Jordan’s home, grandpa does about the same thing, but when he checks in he just says, “See ya later.” And closes the door. Maybe I’m just used to it, but I think it took Jordan by surprise the other night. 

In the last few week’s, Jordan’s also joined the Battle of the Bathroom Towels. It’s been a long, hard skirmish and grandpa’s troops have been resilient. I don’t know why, but I have this thing about people using my bath towels. It’s not just grandpa, it’s anybody. I like to clean my face and dry my bum with a towel that’s reserved for me and me alone. It’s one {of many things} I refuse to share. I just like to know that if it’s dirty, it’s my own dirt that made it that way. Anyways, long story short, grandpa likes to share towels. I’ve tried many methods to keep our towels separate, but I haven’t found a solution that can stand against grandpa’s sneak attacks.

Suggestions concerning this new ailment will be accepted and if I get one that can conquer the Towel Thief I may consider a Grandpa Diaries Giveaway of some sort – just think of it, you could win a weekend away with grandpa or something exciting like that. Get your ideas in if you want a chance at that. 

{For The Love of Grandpa}

It’s been brought to my attention that some may mistake my honest humor as cynicism … well, you’ve hit it on the button.

I promise each documented happening has been the honest to goodness truth. When reflecting on my daily grandpa experiences, I get the whole shoulder-angel-and-devil thing. Unfortunately, the little hellion on my left shoulder quashes the adorable cherub’s upbeat encouragement on my right; resulting in a slew of sarcastic internal thoughts {but it’s all thunk in a loving way, of course}.

These notions often end up streaming straight from my head and into my computer. I can’t stop it.  {Jordan would be the first to attest to my incapacity to think before I speak … or publish in this matter. I always ramble awkwardly/ incoherently/ shamelessly; and it’s usually to his detriment}. Sometimes I’ll be in the middle of a sentence and I’ll think, “Don’t say that.” And then I say it. Why? I don’t know. Like I said… I can’t stop it.

But to make up for any misunderstandings, I’ve decided to dedicate this post to the reasons why I LOVE my grandpa. {I’ve also been out of town for a good chunk of the week, so I didn’t soak up as much of the awe-inspiring craziness as I normally do.}

The following is my All-The-Things-I-Love-About-My-Grandpa-Plus-A-Few list:

1. I LOVE when grandpa tells me my meals are “just like uptown.” {or “downtown” he likes to substitute the two just to change it up a little bit.} I don’t know how he remembers uptown/downtown, because right now there’s not a ton going for those locations in good ‘ole Idaho Falls – today it’s a little more eastside, but any who, that’s open for debate. No matter the context, I’m sure this is a complement. Who thought frozen cordon bleu and Lipton Rice Sides were comparable to any public food establishment? I’m honored.

2. I LOVE grandpa’s cinematic tastes. Don’t get me wrong. I enjoy his choice of television programs most of the time, too. There’s nothing like building a lasting grandfather/granddaughter relationship while watching TruTV. He even gets his Jersey Shore on every once in a while {though I don’t think he totally knows what’s going on.} But it’s the movies that I enjoy the most. Since moving in, I’ve watched a handful of movies with the old man, including: “The Natural”, “The Ides of March” {edited version, of course, which didn’t really make any sense. Apparently all the important stuff happens during the scandalous scenes. But – to use grandpa’s words – it was a good time, nevertheless}, “Eight Seconds”, “A League of Their Own”, “Sleepless In Seattle” and “You’ve Got Mail.” You might note that half of the movies we watch are Tom Hanks classics. Grandpa loves him some Tom Hanks. Though he usually thinks “kissing shows” are gross, he thinks Hanks is the  BANANAS!   

3. I LOVE grandpa’s stories. Though I’ve heard most of them 101 times {“The Dumpy Sheephearder”, “The Boxing Record: 55-5-1” or “The Time I Blew-Up The Beaver Dam With A Stick Of Dynamite” – Don’t worry, I’ll devote entire posts to these stories; they’re pretty classic. This is just to tickle your curiosity.} Anyways, though I’ve heard most of these stories a million times, the facts change just a little bit with each telling. Grandpa gets so excited to tell a story, even though he pretends like it’s not a big deal. He always makes them truly entertaining.

4. I LOVE being able to say what grandpa’s thinking before he says it {see All-The-Things-I-Love-About-My-Grandpa-Plus-A-Few #’s 1 and 2}. I always try to beat him to the punch and call our meals “uptown” and our movies “kissing shows” before he does. I think it takes him by surprise, like “That’s exactly what I was just thinking!” I LOVE  it.

Though there are many more reasons why I love my grandfather, my word count is getting a little high… who likes to read more than 600 words in one sitting? Not me. And this is becoming downright novel-ish.

Perhaps this week I’ll spend a little more time with grandpa, just so soak up the good things.

We could wander downtown for a truly uptown meal, then end the night with a good Tom Hanks kissing show.   

{The Grandpa's Favorite}

Well … it’s happening.

It’s 7:12 p.m. and I’m sitting in my PJs, eating an orange popsicle and watching track cycling.

I’m becoming grandpa. 

You may be thinking, “Don’t worry, that’s just a one-time thing.”

But, yesterday, I wore a sweater and ski socks around the house all afternoon because I was SO COLD! I’m a little scared…

Now, I have a few things to get to concerning grandpa, but first, let’s address track cycling. Why is this on primetime? First of all, I didn’t even know this sport existed and maybe that’s my bad, but this sport is super lame. For those of you who aren’t familiar with track cycling, people have to push them to get them going {I thought after you learned to ride your bike, people stopped doing that…} Anyway, then they start getting the speed wobbles. And I don’t mean the go-so-fast-you-wobble speed wobble, I’m talking about the so-slow-you-might-fall-over speed wobble. They “race” two laps at the slowest pace possible. For real, they have to do that thing where you turn your front wheel back and forth to keep from falling over. Then the last lap, they go as fast as they can. I don’t get it.

Oh good, springboard diving is on! This is much better. We can all calm down.

Now, let’s get back to life with grandpa, shall we?

I’m starting to understand what it feels like when you’re a mom and you spend all day feeding and cleaning and putting up with your kids and then they get super excited and forget about you when the dad comes home.  {Does any of that make sense?} 

Well, all week I feed and clean up after and hang out with grandpa. But when Jordan gets home, HE’s the apple of grandpa’s eye. Grandpa even documented Jordan’s arrival on the calendar – “Jordan Returned.”

I have a few ideas why grandpa loves Jordan more than me.  

{1} Jordan always edges when he mows the lawn. First of all, I don’t think grandpa believes girls are physically able to mow the lawn - even though I do it 75% of the time. However, I don’t edge because I’m still playing the “I don’t know how to use a gas-powered edger” excuse. And I’m gonna play that card for as long as it works. In reality, I just really hate when the grass whips my legs :(

{2} Grandpa thinks I’m a wimp because I’m afraid of bats. Well, when you’ve slept in a room fluttering with hantavirus, you might understand where I’m coming from. But grandpa simply catches the bats with his bare hands {fact}, squeezes their heads with his thumb and finger {fact} and throws their remains to the wayside {FACT}.

{3} I want to kill the damn squirrel that grandpa keeps feeding. {Please excuse my language, but it’s gotten to that point.} He keeps a pile of bird seed right outside the basement door and EVERYTIME I go outside the squirrel runs across my toes and up a tree {okay that’s not a fact, but the squirrel is really too close for comfort.}

I always knew Jordan would be the cool parent – he let’s kids run wild, while I prefer the Iron Fist Method. 

He’s the kind of guy who would let his kids do track cycling if that was their dream… and I don’t think I could do that.

I guess I’ve got a ways to go to becoming the “cool” parent in this relationship. But at least I’m dominating with my old person skills while lounging in my jammies and eating orange popsicles.