The Mouths of Babes 1

You have to watch yourself around your grandchildren. I have a 3 year old grandson, Miles, and a 16 month old granddaughter, Georgia. At their age their little brains are like sponges, soaking up all that wisdom for which grandparents are noted.

Some time ago, we were discussing the upcoming one year birthday for Georgia, and I made the statement that I didn’t know what to get her for the occasion. Miles, having had two of his own birthdays and a couple of other parties under his belt, quickly made sense of the situation and solved Georgia’s birthday present problem.

Cake!”, he yelled. You have to admire the potential of someone so young who has their priorities settled.

As in all families, we worked hard to come up with easily pronounced, cute grandparent names for both sides of Miles’ family. My wife didn’t want “mammaw”, or some other traditional grandmother names. She wisely decided on “Mimi”. It works well, and both kids can now pronounce her pseudonym.

I don’t care what the kids call me. I offered up my name, Bob, but my daughter said it  did not give me respect, as if she ever did.  So, I became Bob-Bob. It works, and both kids can say it.

The recent discovery is that Bob-Bob is the good granddad. Whenever Miles does not approve of my conduct, he truncates the cute little name to just plain, Bob. My daughter’s concern is coming to life, probably because whenever she speaks ill of me, she calls me Bob, clearly disrespecting her old man.

Last night while babysitting, Miles wanted a cheese snack. I found Kraft American cheese slices in the fridge, peeled one out of its wrapper, and dropped it on a plate in front of Miles. The problem is that Mimi had been feeding him a snack of vegetables and ranch dressing. The cheese slice plopped right in the middle of a puddle of dressing.

Instantly, Miles made known his disapproval of my service. He doesn’t like certain things, and one is the combination of cheese and ranch dressing. I can’t blame him, there.

Bob threw it!”, he told Mimi. This told me three things. First, you can’t get away with anything less than the slavish service his mother gives him. Second, the little tyke is quick to voice his opinion of less than acceptable conduct. Third, I had been demoted to something less than grandparent du jour.

Thank God for two of them. Georga didn’t seem to have a problem with ranch dressing on American cheese. She ate every bite.

Afterwards, she raised her little arms for me to hold her. That just melts me like ice cream in July.

The Climate Change Chant Reply

Global Warming is real
But it’s no big deal
As any plain fool can see
The waters go up
The waters go down
The levels stay the same at the sea

When I go swimming
I keep thinking
It’s the heat of the day for me
We know it’s not smart
In the pool to fart
Or to jump in the water to pee

The temps go up
The temps go down
I think we can all agree
To shut the hell up
About the climate
It’s as good as climate can be

Somebody’s Got To Do It Reply

With retirement comes opportunity. Suddenly, like it or not, you have the time to take on some pretty important tasks that you have left for others. It is a time to exult in freedom, and watch bad movies on weekday nights.

You can go to bed at three o’clock in the morning, sleep until ten o’clock, and not worry about somebody (except your wife) beating up on you for your much deserved slothfulness.

It is my turn to contemplate faster than light (FTL) space travel and other as yet undiscovered principles of physics.  I know it sounds a bit like science fiction, but I have been watching the History Channel, and not only do they show some pretty good stuff on UFO’s, but they are also solving the problem of traveling at sub-light speed. If you really want to go somewhere, 55 mph won’t get it.

Of course I don’t plan on solving all these problems by myself. I intend to do a study of Tennessee sipping whiskey and light speed drives for space ships. Now, hold on a bit. This is not a joke. I have to make up for lost time, and the squandered opportunities of my youth.

It is time to squander my retirement years. Why else have I worked so hard?

When I was young man, I was taught to work for my money, and everything else that came along. My family was a big family, and the folks could not afford to pay anything on my college education. Indeed, none of my siblings at the time had a college education. I was the first.

I worked my way through engineering school at radio and television stations as a broadcast engineer, and I didn’t have time for all the dope smoking, free sex, and general debauchery of the Viet Nam war generation. If I had been caught doing drugs, I would have been thrown out of school, and fired from my job. Plus, future employment would be jeopardized because of a criminal record. It happened to lots of kids.

Now that I am retired and have lost my baby face and some of my incredible sex appeal, I am forced to spend time improving life for others. Yep, FTL is the way to go, and I anticipate my inspiration from Tennessee whiskey; Jack Daniels, to be sure.