The gift of Grannie
I could hear the silent screams as loud as a freight train, reverberating off the walls of my Christmas-clad living room. They were coming from my sisters-in-law and me, who were watching in horror as our sons tore open their Christmas presents from their Grannie—my mother-in-law, Debbie.
“This is so awesome!” one of them exclaimed.
“Look at all this ammo!” another one cried out.
I choked back a sob. My sisters-in-law and I locked eyes, mouths wide open, unable to process the mayhem that was about to be unleashed upon us by this gift from Grannie, who was sitting benevolently across the room and beaming with joy at the delight of her grandsons.
The gift she had chosen for this ages four-to-nine set of grandsons was Nerf-like plastic guns, each loaded with at least 20 rounds of one-inch foam balls of “ammunition”. It was an Amazon special that I had seen earlier in the week but had wisely passed over, thinking, “There’s no way I’m buying that! Think of all the bullets everywhere!”
And now, here we were in my living room with havoc-makers left and right. I quickly did the math: two guns per boy, times six boys, times 20 rounds of ammunition per gun, equals infinity foam balls being kicked around my floor for the foreseeable future.
“I just…I can’t believe how many little round balls are about to be all over my house,” I said to Annie, who was sitting beside me with her eyes similarly glazed over. Her silent scream was fierce, but no one’s could come close to mine, because, unbeknownst to Grannie, half of these little boys were about to have a sleepover at my house.
I thought about being a mean aunt and squelching their fun with a quick announcement that there would be no gun play that night, and if they would kindly leave their weapons in their tidy packaging until returning to their own homes, we would proceed with our evening as planned.
But before I could get a word out, one nephew ripped into his box. Then another. And another. Before I knew it, there were little boys everywhere, popping annoying round foam bullets all over my living room and kitchen.
“Make sure to mark your balls with your initials,” Grannie called out across the room, prompting at least three of her ne’er-do-well sons (my husband included) to bust up laughing. I mean, this is not her first rodeo. She raised five rowdy boys (and two angelic girls) of her own—didn’t she know how chaotic her gift would be?
Yes, yes she did. But for Grannie, delighting her grandchildren trumps all. And even with ball after ball whizzing past my head, I couldn’t help but love her for it.
These kids love their Grannie, and she loves them. She works hard to develop and maintain a special relationship with each one of them, and as a result, I’m quite sure that any of her 34 grandkids would do anything for her.
The day after the gifting of the foam ball guns, she met up with some of her granddaughters for their monthly book club, which has been meeting regularly for more than a year. The month’s book was “These Is My Words,” a fictional journal written in the voice of a pioneer in the Arizona territories in the late 1800s. Grannie showed up in full cowgirl dress, with a neckerchief, overalls, and a cowboy hat.
“Where are your costumes, girls?” she asked when she saw that only one of her teenage granddaughters had made an effort to get into pioneer garb. The other girls quickly scrambled to find aprons, bonnets and neckerchiefs, and within minutes were up to snuff for their book club discussion. Anything for Grannie!
Grannie had brought a little goodie bag for each girl, filled with trinkets and treats. Their discussion of the book lasted about 45 minutes, and then they enjoyed a very authentic pioneer brunch of muffins, scrambled eggs and honeydew. The girls felt loved, heard and pampered, and once again, Grannie was in her element.
Which brings me back to the 90 million foam balls shot all over my house. I’ll gladly set out a bowl and designate it for stray bullets rounded up off the floor if it means that my kids—and Logan and me as well—get to enjoy a relationship with Grannie. She’s pure gold, and all the foam bullets in the world can’t change that.