Tabatha Deans

Bringing Integrity to the Written Word

Don’t Touch Anything

The great thing about being a grandparent is that I can take the time to appreciate and marvel at everything little Petra says, as opposed to when Jessica was little, when I was always in a hurry to get somewhere. Petra is a mini version of Jessica, so in a small way I feel like I’m getting a second look at what I missed as a busy parent.

Recently Petra and I loaded into Jessica’s car for our Grammy day errands, she climbed into her car seat and started shaking me down for a treat. She had a direct line of sight to my purse, and knows that’s where the treats would be. I quickly tried to stuff the chocolate bark into my bag and zip it up.

“What are you hiding in your purse grammy?”

“What?” I played dumb.

“In your purse, what are you hiding in your purse?”

I told her it was a treat for later, and she let it slide until we had finished our errands. We got back in the car and she remembered.

“What about the treats in your purse grammy?” I couldn’t put it off any longer, so I handed her a piece of chocolate coconut bark. She took it eagerly and kicked her feet in joy, then silence set in as she enjoyed her chocolate and I drove down Main Street. Soon I heard her confused voice from the back seat.

“What happened to my hands Grammy?” I looked in the mirror to see the chocolate had melted in her hands, and she was wringing them in confusion, fun and general curiosity, watching the chocolate smear even more. Her face was covered as well.

“Oh sweetie, the chocolate melted,” I explained. “We’re almost home, just don’t touch anything.” There was silence for a few seconds, and we were literally blocks from home. Then I heard her mischievous little voice from the back seat.

“Grammy…I’m…touching…everything!”

I looked back in time to see her grab her car seat, leaving chocolate hand prints. Then her legs, then her chest, then her face and lastly, her hair. She giggled and bounced her legs in delight at her new-found power of leaving prints wherever she touched, and I couldn’t help but laugh at her antics myself.

We got home and I climbed into the back seat with tissues and a bottle of water, insufficient weapons to battle the mess that was now Petra, but I started wiping the chocolate off her face. She wasn’t done yet.

“No Grammy. I want to go touch my Mommy!”

Hehehehehe. It is great to be a grandma.

Advertisements

April 6, 2016 Posted by | The Corset Chronicles | , , , , , | Leave a comment