In the past few months, I’ve been using wrong, random words in my sentences. I don’t realize I’ve used the wrong word until someone points it out. These words make my sentences absurd, and I’m highly amused by it. Bob is not amused by it. At all. (See note)

We had squirrels in our attic. They tirelessly darted back and forth all hours of the day and night. 

I complained to Bob, “Those squirrels are making so much money up there!”

“Money?” 

“What about money?”

“You just said the squirrels are up there making money.”

I erupted with laugher. Who knew? They’re not just making noise, they’re making money. It makes me smile just writing it.

Recently we had the grandkids up. We were in a hurry and I needed them to hop to it.

My sweet, three year old Annabelle, was dilly-dallying.  

“Come on, sweetheart. I need you to step it up. Jump up in your suitcase.”

She stopped and stood there. A blank look on her face. What in the world? She’s the epitome of obedience. “Annabelle?”

“You said suitcase, Nana.”

“When did I say ‘suitcase’?”

“You told me to get into my suitcase.”

Oh, my goodness, did that ever make me laugh! Poor Annabelle. So eager to do just as she’s told.

Using all these wrong words that don’t make a lick of sense reminded me of the “Mad Libs” books we used have as kids.

As I thought of them, I jumped on Amazon to see if they still sell them. Sure enough, they sell all kinds of them. I bought some. They would arrive the very next day!

This boggles my mind. How in the heck do they have “Mad Libs” books that handy? I find it mind boggling that I can go from having an inkling that I might want something to actually buying it in the space of two minutes. It’s dangerous. Because, turns out, I have a lot of inklings.

I was so excited to fill in those Mad Libs with the kids. 

“You guys are going to crack up! Just give me any noun, adjective, verb, or adverb, I’ll write them in and then read you the story you made.”

“What’s a noun?” Maisie asked.

“A person, place or thing.”

“But…that’s everything.”

“Pretty much, so just come up with something.”

She came up with “eyeball,” of all things. Plural noun? “Eyeballs.”

Adjective? “Funny.”

Verb? “Running.

Adverb? “Fast.”

Of course, the completed story was funny. But she used the same noun, plural noun, adjective and adverb for every story. But it made her laugh every time and that’s the point, so who cares?

Brooks knows the parts of speech. He got a little hung up on an adverb, so I started to explain what an adverb was.

He interrupted me, “Nana! I know what an adverb is. I’m just trying to think of a good one.”

He came up with “hastily.” Hastily? He’s seven!! Good heavens.

His carefully thought out words didn’t make the stories quite as comical as the “funny, fast running eyeballs” featured in Maisie’s stories, but they still made us laugh. “Quiet Nana hastily crawling.” 

I love being silly. The kids love silly. Mostly. It’s ingrained into us to try and make someone smile. Just think of the antics we’ll go through just to get a baby to smile. 

But the one who's the most amused? Me. By a mile.

One day I rushed into the room where Bob was working. 

“Babe! Oh my gosh!” 

“What? What’s wrong?”

“The water may have been contaminated… at CAMP LEJEUNE!!”

(For anyone who doesn’t get that bit of silliness, it’s a reference to a commercial that ran dozens of times a day, offering legal advice to any unfortunate soldier impacted by the bad water).

**Note**

Bob is not humorless. He’s just fearful my random words might be caused by my head injury. I don’t, I think there’s a logical explanation, I was probably thinking about how much money it would cost to get the squirrels out and probably thinking about packing the kids up and taking them home. But I did take quite a fall several months ago. I hit the curb so hard it knocked me out. A Good Samaritan stopped and called an ambulance. In the emergency room they determined I had a small brain bleed and a concussion. I ended up staying three nights. But I am getting better, the double vision is gone, the headaches aren’t as severe (most days)…but the fogginess, blurred division and dizziness persist. What I miss most is being able to walk outside. I can’t wait for those first warmish days in the spring. And we had the best autumn I can ever remember… such great walking weather!  Anyway, I’m thankful I am getting better, a little slower than I’d like, but I know it could’ve much worse. At least I haven’t lost my sense of humor and I’m thinking the medicinal effect of laughter should kick in any day now.

I was watching a baseball game with Bob. I commented on how much one of the players reminded me of my brother, Craig.

“I’m not seeing it. At all,” Bob responded.

“Because it wasn’t the face you knew. It’s his nine year old face. Before it morphed into his adult face. Still soft around the edges.”

Nine year old Craig still sucked his thumb. My mom was desperate for him to stop. I think Craig was just as eager to abandon the habit. She tried all kinds of tactics. Nothing worked.

One night she wrapped an ace bandage around his hand, making it impossible for him to get his thumb in his mouth.

When he took it off the next morning, his hand was freakishly large. Apparently, the bandage had cut off his circulation. He came into my room to show me his big hand, his curly hair all wild from sleep. 

He had his hand behind his back and when he got close, he brought it out with a flourish, “Ta-dah!”

It was hysterical! His hand was five times its normal size! We laughed and laughed. 

“Wait til Mom sees it! She's going to crack up. Put it behind your back, just like you did for me.”

We knocked on her bedroom door, barely able to suppress our laughter.

Mom opened the door and smiled, knowing we were up to something.

Craig whipped his giant hand out from behind his back, “Ta-Dah!”

My mom looked at it and started screaming. What in the world? Why can’t she see the hilarity of it all?

She was on the phone with a doctor within minutes, and per his instructions, she filled one pan with cold water and another with hot water. She alternated putting his giant hand first in the cold, then in the hot. She was choking back sobs, berating herself, saying she didn’t care if he sucked his thumb the rest of his life, she was done with the interventions.

I don’t know how many dunks it took, but his hand did shrink down to its normal size. Phew!

Disaster averted, my mom sighed her oft repeated phrase, “Live and learn.”

I’d heard those words a thousand times. I’d started to resent them. Why couldn’t we learn what we needed to know without living through one disaster after another? 

Now, I’ve adopted the same mantra. What’s the alternative? Bemoan every misstep until I feel properly chastised?  It’s actually a healthy habit. Own it, learn from it, and do the next right thing. Obviously, we can’t be too glib about it, or trivialize it. But we don’t learn by skipping blissfully through life. We learn through the stumbles and the sorrow.  Jesus began a good work in me the hour I first believed, and the work will not be complete until the day He takes me home. But until then, I'll continue to live and learn. My mom used to say, "Some people need to learn it the hard way." I'm one of those "some people,"who often need to learn it the "hard way." But I do learn it. Living and learning. And so it goes.

I walked a mile with Pleasure, 

She chattered all the way,

But left me none the wiser,

For all she had to say.

I walked a mile with Sorrow,

And ne’er a word said she,

But oh, the things I learned from her

When Sorrow walks with me!

                       —“Along the Road”

                            by Robert Browning Hamilton

 I don’t know how old I was when I became self-conscious. I know it wasn’t a good thing; I was too young to care so much about what other people thought of me. I used to love being silly and making people laugh. But somewhere along the way, I realized some were laughing at me, not with me. The slightest criticisms began to crush my spirit. Soon enough I was too timid to make a peep. Too worried I might sound stupid or look stupid. What a curse. I’m insanely jealous of those who don’t give a flip what other people think of them. My dad was one of those lucky people. He often told me, “You would care a lot less about what people think about you if you only knew how little they think of you at all.” Wise words.

Thankfully, my granddaughters (5 and 3) are still blissfully oblivious to a watching world.

The first thing Maisie and Annabelle want me to do is dance with them to “Dancing Queen.” They tear upstairs to grab some “grip free” socks so they can spin freely on the wood floor. 

We play the song loudly, I grab their little hands, spin them one direction and then the other, slide them through my legs, they squeal with laughter and I laugh right along with them. If anyone happens upon us (even Bob), I stiffen up. Please don’t watch us. I know I look stupid.

When it’s time to get ready to go out to lunch, I help three-year old Annabelle get dressed. She has many princess dresses….what I would call “dress up” clothes or halloween costumes. For Annabelle, they’re just one of her many everyday outfits. I try and dissuade her. “Why don’t we save your princess dress for later?”

“But Nana, I'm a princess!” Of course you are! And princesses wear princess dresses! Silly Nana.

She admires herself in the mirror, “I look beautiful.” Please, Lord, please don’t ever let her stop believing she’s a beautiful princess. 

I ask Caitlin if she’s okay with Annabelle’s outfit. Sure! Why not?

Why not, indeed? I think back on all the clothing battles I fought with Caitlin when she was three. Were they ever worth it? I remember running late for work and instead of the outfit I’d laid out for her, she came downstairs wearing a one-pice bathing suit paired with a plaid flannel skirt, and dress up sandals. I can still picture every detail, Caitlin so pleased with herself for assembling such a cute outfit. Okay, I guess some battles did have to be fought.

Annabelle flounces through the restaurant in her princess dress, smiling big at all the compliments she receives from every table she passes. 

On the drive home, Maisie asks if we can play, “Dancing Queen.” Of course we can. She sings along. I wasn’t aware she knew the lyrics. I know only a few. She belts out the line, “See that girl? Watch that scene! Dig it, the dancing queen.” 

Those sweet, innocent memories will be etched in my mind forever.

Please, Lord. Please let that lack of self-awareness stay with them as long as possible. Let them sing and dance unaffected by a watching world that can be cruel. Don’t let what other people think of them ever stifle their infectious joy or squash their creativity. Let them live only ever caring what You think…knowing they are Yours and You love them with an everlasting love.