Keeping up with the gene pool

It’s that time of year again. Proud grandparents are roaming the streets of Drizzle Creek showing off the visiting grandkids down for a summer visit.
Those grandparents lucky enough to have the gene pool resident in Drizzle Creek year-round can’t see what all the fuss is about. Their outlook is not only do grandkids keep the excess pocket change in circulation, they also wear a body to a frazzle.
The gene pool is proof positive why old people don’t have children and why afternoon naps for seniors are a necessary indulgence.
Alas, those of us with the gene pool resident in some distant locale don’t learn that lesson until a couple of weeks into the vacation.
On the positive side, I don’t know how your grandkids stack up but mine are perfect (so far), which is why I’ve been strutting and showing them off at the debating table down at the Bakery.
Even the Pearl has been reliving her youth and, after a pair of sons, finally fulfilling her fantasies of dressing up little girls.
So I’m devoting this week’s column to true witticisms and profound insights and observations of the two offspring I’ve been sporting around town.
Here goes:
One of the highlights of our visits from the “gene pool” is the early-morning patter of small feet, accompanied by giggling, and two small squirming bodies with cold feet and hands, wiggling their way under the comforter between two half-awake grandparents.
Chattering away like a pair of squirrels, the duo would snuggle in and then begin the day’s barrage of questions to stimulate these seniors’ minds into full consciousness.
Emily’s came first as she cuddled up to my back.
“Papa, how come you gots fur on your back?” she quizzed as she petted me like she did the family cat.
I was too busy purring to answer.
Grandma was trying to get the attention of Emily, who was in her pretend world making automotive-like noises.
“No Lala! I’m busy. I’m driving the truck. I’m driving old people to exercise,” explained the young chauffeur.
“Then I’m taking them to the doctor to get their flea shot,” she concluded.
Emily rushed excitedly into the bedroom when she heard the ice cream vendor coming down the street.
“Mommy! Mommy! Here comes the ice cream man! Let’s get some!” she suggested with great enthusiasm.
Mom, considering the hard-won victory of pounds recently shed and the approach of suppertime, was quick to the draw with her objections.
“Sorry, sweetie, Mommy hasn’t any money for ice cream today,” she quipped without missing a beat.
“But I gots money,” shot back Emily just as fast.
“Oh, where have you got money?” queried Mom, wondering about a secret stash.
“In the basement,” replied Emily.
“Where in the basement?” asked a now suspicious Mom.
“In Lala’s [grandmother’s] purse,” explained a determined Emily.
“Oh no, sweetie! You can’t take money from Lala’s purse without asking first!” warned Mom.
“Oh no! Don’t ask first ’cause Lala will say ‘No,’” explained one wise beyond her years.
Gotta love those Catholic girls. Wiser to ask for forgiveness than permission.

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