Our dear, sweet, lovable little only-granddaughter apparently has an evil alter ego. Not that we have ever seen it, of course. When she is here she is always the epitome of perfection, saying yes sir and yes ma'am, please and thank you, and using that honed-to-perfection southern drawl that she learned from who-knows-where. Yesterday she was excited about getting one of the games down from our shelf-full-o-games, and she said "Games aw-er aaaaaaawesum" (In case you missed it, the translation is "Games are awesome"). That's one of the things that cracks me up about her. She has learned the art of turning one syllable words into two or sometimes three. DadDa-yad. Ca-yun-dy. Get the idea? Every time she goes into that mode it pretty much melts my heart.
But yesterday she showed us a brand new trick she has learned. Now understand, there is absolutely no way she learned it from us. At least not from me. Chris was encouraging her to engage in some sort of activity that was perhaps not exactly included in the Cailyn itinerary of the day. I don't remember what it was. Something to do with eating lunch.
But it struck a hot nerve. Her countenance began to change. Her eyebrows furrowed. The edges of her lips turned downward, just beyond a pout and into near-angry territory. One hand went to her hip. The other slowly raised to about eye level. And on that hand protruded the infamous wagging finger. And it began its movement, slowly at first, then faster and faster as the words tumbled out.
Now that sight was worth videoing right there. But I was afraid to move for fear of destroying the mood of the moment. What could she possibly have to say that would be an appropriate accompaniment to that classic action? I didn't have long to wait.
"No Nani. You rude, Nani. Don't say no to me. You say, 'yes, ma'am.' One … two … you go time out. You go time out right now or you get spanking."
Quite the little outburst there, I must say. She didn't even get to three. This younger generation never has enough patience. And our reaction? It was one of those parent-type situations where in spite of your best intentions there is a laugh that is struggling mightily to be released. Since she wasn't looking directly at me, it didn't hurt anything when a huge grin exploded onto my face. At least I didn't make a sound. It was not as easy for Chris, though. She was bearing the brunt of the little one's fury, so she couldn't just laugh in her face (like I would have done). She did her best to maintain proper adult decorum. And yes, I got one of her patented "looks" telling me without words that I best keep my mouth closed and not dare let Cailyn see I was laughing. Of course I would never do anything from my position out of Cailyn's sight like put my hand over my grin or raise my eyebrows or join Cailyn in a silent finger wag of my own. I wonder if anything like that ever happens with her Mom and Dad? It sure used to when he was just a kid and one of his brothers was in trouble with Mom. Ah. This is why they put "grand" in the word "grandparent."
Ecclesiastes 10:12-14 says, "Words from a wise man's mouth are gracious, but a fool is consumed by his own lips. At the beginning his words are folly; at the end they are wicked madness — and the fool multiplies words."
Father, thank you for giving me the privilege of interacting with my grandchildren. Give me enough energy to keep it up. Amen.
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