What Happens at Gramma's….

November 4, 2009

 

LOL.  I just laugh everytime I think about this.

I went on Tuesday to volunteer at Mikayla’s kindergarten.  I usually get there at the beginning of the day just as the first bell is ringing.

(Run! Run to class!  Don’t be late!)

(No running!)

This time, as I started toward the front of the school, I saw my son-in-law pull around the drop-off circle and out popped my granddaughter.  Cool!  I yelled her name.

“Mikayla!”

Nothing.

“Mikayla!!!!”

Nothing.

“Mi-KAY-la!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!”

A head turns. (Well, lots of heads turned because Mikayla was the only one who didn’t hear me shouting her name.)

Ah…I’ve been sited.

“Gramma!”  She runs toward me and grabs me around the waist (and almost knocks us both to the sidewalk in the process—I’m not a big woman, but she’s going to be…she looks like a second grader!)

So I walk her into her classroom through the back door where she usually goes to class, risking life and limb by entering the school without the requisite neon yellow badge announcing me as an alien on the school grounds.

And I’m expecting the alarms to go off at any second….”Warning! Warning!  Intruder!  Perimeter has been breached!  Release the dobermans!”

Curiously, nothing happens.  No one notices.  No one calls the cops.

(Whew!  I’m really lucking out this year with getting by with the crimnal activity at elementary schools this year…carving knives…badgeless entry.)

And as we walk we converse, as grandma’s and granddaughers will do….

“So I see Andy dropped you off this morning.”

“And we rode in momma’s car.”

“Did momma have to work early this morning?”

“Yes, Andy dropped me off.”       (Oh! I hadn’t noticed!)

“Oh, really?”

“Yes, I looked for momma under the pillows this morning, but she wasn’t there.”

Hmmmmm…..

So I said, “Well, I know your momma and she’s not that small.”

And she said, “I know cause she has a baby in her tummy.”

There you have it folks.  If not for the baby in her tummy, my daughter would be able to hide under the pillows on the bed.  Kelly, I think you owe this child some money.  Those kind of compliments just can’t be bought!