My mom’s dad moved to Houston a few weeks back. He had been living in North Texas close to one of my aunts and my mom. I was selfishly happy to have him move here so I could see him more.
The last time I saw him, prior to him moving, was after the terrible road trip when the boys and I went to Denton. I took Zach to Dallas with me one night, so I could see my Vegas girls and he could hang out with his cousins. The next day I took Zach and Charlotte to see my papa, who we call their Big Papa.
His assisted living center was having a church service that my mom thought he would like to attend, but would forget about. So she thought if we went at that time we could encourage him to attend.
The timing is perfect and we arrive right before it started. He had forgotten (or didn’t want to go) but we made him go anyway. Unfortunately it was Rite I of the Episcopal liturgy.
Ugh, I really, really don’t like Rite 1 (which is just the language in which the read the service). It is all “thoust” and “wilst”, and basically hard to understand. No thank you, I am a Rite II girl all the way. Plus the priest kept encouraging everyone to visit his church online, as his sermons are posted there. OK, calm down, Father. We get it; you are tech savvy, but no one at the service was below the age of 85, don’t push your luck.
My bad attitude aside, the kids did awesome. Zach and Charlotte each sat in the chairs and pretended to read the hymnal the entire time. It really was a miracle. The priest was clearly nice to bring the service, any service, to an assisted living center as well.
my mother’s plan was for the three of us to eat lunch at the center but Big Papa said Charlotte and Zach would prefer to go to Whataburger. I, personally, think he didn’t want to deal with all those other old people coming up and chatting about his “precious” grandchildren the entire time. My papa is not a chatter. He does not like small talk and especially with strangers.
So I tossed his walker in the back of my car (it would not fold as he had drilled a tray on it), loaded up one old person and two kids and off we went.
It was at this point in the story that my mom stopped me. She was aghast. Her comment, “Let me get this straight. You took a two year old, a four year old and a very unsteady 88 year old man to Whataburger??” I had not even given it a second thought. Both she and my aunt were shocked.
In a very unlike-me move, I had not even thought about anything going wrong. “What if he had fallen?” “What if one of the kids had run off or knocked him down?” “What if someone had to go to the bathroom?”
Because, you see, Alex had just been to see his grandmother (she is only 94) the weekend before and taken the boys and her to McDonald’s for breakfast. And he never thinks anything can go wrong.
It is official, I have been Wall-itized.
I mean, I guess it had to happen at some point, we have been married eight years and together for twelve this Halloween.
And in true Wall fashion, everything was fine. We got to the restaurant fine (though I was convinced we were lost), everyone ate their Whataburgers and drank their chocolate milk (well, Papa drank Charlotte’s). We then we loaded back up to head down the freeway to his apartment.
Really it was a nice trip., Papa enjoyed watching the kids and Zach had very important questions for Big Papa like why he could not hear even though his ears were “huge” and was he going to die before or after Grandma Ena. You would think the kid had money on it or something for as much as we have to discuss that last one.
Now I am glad that I was Wall-itized then, as Papa is not really up to going to Whataburger these days. But don’t worry James and I just bring it to him. I know his order and taking James out to eat is basically not an option. He needs to roam around while eating, which is very easy to do at Papa’s place.
Plus Big Papa has chocolate that he lets the boys eat entirely too much of.
But isn’t that what a Big Papa is for?