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    Grandparents: Purpose
    Grandparents: Purpose
    Grandparents: Purpose
    Ebook143 pages2 hours

    Grandparents: Purpose

    By j.i.m. lord

    ()

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    About this ebook

    Grandparents, the last line of defense. When we adopted the grandkids, they were 7, 3, and 1.. They are now 11, 8, and 5. Two boys and a girl. Add to the household an 18 year old daughter, plus an 80 year old
    great-grandmother, and what do you get?
    LanguageEnglish
    PublisherBookBaby
    Release dateJan 17, 2014
    ISBN9781483516851
    Grandparents: Purpose
    Author

    j.i.m. lord

    J.I.M. Lord is the father of three and grandfather of three, of which the three grandkids have been adopted by Jim and his wife Emily after the death of their daughter. Jim & family live in Oklahoma and are on a first-name-basis with the ins and outs of food stamps, WIC, government housing, and the struggles to make ends meet by frequenting garage sales and re-selling those "gems" on Ebay...thus the lead character's name in "Finding My Way Back Home:"  JOBE!  Look for Jim's novels "Grandparents: Purpose" & "Grandparents: It Don't Come Easy" , memoirs of life in the "starting over" lane of parenting grandkids!

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      Book preview

      Grandparents - j.i.m. lord

      J.I.M.

      1

      How'd We Get Here?

      We have three grandkids. Adopted.

      My name is J.I.M. Lord. You can call me Jim.

      The wife of 36 years is Frances, also known as Fran, Grandma, or Mom. She is the resident wizard, at times therapist, doctor, nurse, teacher, maid, cook, arbitrator, hairstylist, WWE ref, and magician. She basically holds down the fort, keeps a roof over our heads, meets the bills head on, keeps Jesus close, works a full-time job, and can heal a boo-boo, or stop the sometimes madness of this household just by clicking her heels and whispering There's no place like foam, (as in rubber-padded room) and then, when all is said and done, she gets an instant urge to move to Kansas. In other words, she restores order.

      Me? I'm backup. Relief. Rolaids in human form. A genuine Elroy 2 Face. Who? Forkball? An original fulltime MLB relief pitcher? Pirates, late 50s, early 60s? I didn't buy all those baseball cards just for the gum.

      Fran is the law. The Enforcer. I'm the Pushover. Pushover, when it comes to allowing the kids to get their way, whenever and however they want. If you have grandkids, whether you are raising them or not, you know all about the Open 24 Hours neon sign hanging right there in your very own kitchen, or the way-too-lenient groundings, or the nights you tell one of them let me help you with your homework and you end up doing all of it. That's me in a nutshell, emphasis on the first syllable. Form your own opinion. When I’m finished.

      We’re here for the duration. Fran works. I receive disability. On-the-job injury. I help out. Fran lays down the law, then I become usurper. I like that word. Sounds like something you add to soup to get a little flavor going. That’s me, I add a little spice to things around here. I give the official o.k. soon after Fran stamps her official kibosh on circumstances beyond all but God’s control. It’s a give-and-take fly zone.

      2

      While Fran is at work, I maintain my usual routine. Drive two grandkids to grade school, the other to the bus headed for middle school, and on Monday, Wednesday, and Friday, our eighteen-year-old daughter to junior college. Those days are messed up, to say the least. You see, Kate, our youngest, and our only surviving child, refuses to spend eighty bucks for a school parking permit. Wouldn’t be so bad save for the fact she has a class at 8:15, then one at 10:15, another at 11:15, then one at 1:15, and another at 2:15. And what does she do to pass the time between classes? Old dad picks her up, that’s what, then I drive her home, then back again...and back and back. And does she use this in-between class time to do her schoolwork? Occasionally, but most of her time is spent, as her generation is prone to do, texting her friends and boyfriend. Texting. Never understood it. Nobody talks these days.

      As I told you a minute ago, I maintain a routine. Cab driver, house-husband, laundry, cleaning (what I can with these hands I’ve had surgery on), shopping, accounting, you name it. And, can I shop? I know quality, prices, bargains, where to go for a discount, etc. But no couponing!

      Walmart is my home away from home. I’m going to start having my mail delivered there. Walmart is an everyday trip. It’s me and the kids’ mall in the summertime and on weekends. I imagine this town we live in is the only major college town in America without a mall.

      Who knew grandkids could eat like they do? Walmart loves them. And they love Walmart. You know the donut section there at every Walmart in America? Well, the bakery section, where they have those displays the customer can get at and pick out a 58 cent donut? Our Walmart, the one on the west side of town, gives them to our grandkids for free. How so? They know I spend a lot of money, and my every waking hour, in that place, that’s why...and if you get the right cashier. And one more aside concerning Walmart. When in the hell are they going to put in an aisle just for us? By us, I mean the poor. Look, would it not make sense to have just one aisle at Walmart stocked with just what us poor people live on? Like, for instance, Kraft macaroni and cheese (and not that cheaper brand of mac and cheese that is so nasty), or Vienna Sausages, or those off brands of pop? Or, for instance, Top Ramen, hot dogs, Great Value products, Kool-Aid, and anything with the Equate brand slapped on it. Hamburger helper, spam, tuna, eggs, day-old bread, and bananas (only fruit that hasn’t got a big price tag attached to it.)

      And one more thought, as long as I’m on the subject, wouldn’t it be convenient to just move the Lay-Away desk on to the Poor Shopper’s aisle? Just a thought. And handy, too.

      There’s more, but you get the idea. Any suggestions out there of what could, and should, be on that aisle? Oh, and don’t forget the ground beef.

      3

      Have I mentioned the grandkids? At last count, there are three of them. And there is Kate. She’s going to school to become a nurse. Fran and I checked it out, when Kate graduates, at 21, then finds a job, there is no way she won’t be making over double the highest hourly salary I’ve ever made in my life, and I’m one month from turning 60. The thought amazes me. Hope Kate’s good at nursing, we’ll need her!

      There are seven of us living beneath this roof. Doing the math, you have perhaps only counted six. The wife, myself, Kate, three grandkids. There is one more. All in all, four generations packed in, ranging in age from five years to age eighty. Add a few more heads to count and it seems we might deserve our own reality series. Number seven on the countdown is my mother. More on her later.

      How did we get here?

      Fran asks this question on a daily basis, as I ask it of her. Sometimes we even catch ourselves asking it simultaneously, you know, the old married couple routine: been together long enough to start thinking alike, talking, walking, and acting alike? Losing our teeth alike, and hair, and sense. These we have started to do. At least we haven’t, as a few of our grandparent acquaintances have accomplished, begun to look alike. Not yet. I can’t brag, seeing how there aren’t any crowds around me. I have aged accordingly. Fran, well, she stopped aging around the age of 35. Now I know what you’re thinking, but it’s the truth, and I have proof, Fran’s co-workers. It took them two years to realize she wasn’t 35ish or so, and they only found this out when she slipped and told one of them she only had seven years til she could collect social security. They thought she was out and out lying to them. Fran had to pull out her driver’s license and let them see for themselves.

      Just how did we get here?

      Well, I am about to tell you, and more. But, as God as my witness, we are the things reality shows are made of. Speaking of, I just got home from my daily jaunt to Walmart, and I am amazed at how much merchandise has the Duck Dynasty logo plastered on it. Let me see, kinda seems like when Sponge Bob broke wide open a few years ago. Remember that? You couldn’t swing a dead cat without hitting Sponge Bob stuff. Now, it’s the same with those guys from Louisiana. Do you know they have their own display of greeting cards, and blankets, and dolls, and books? And that’s just with what I saw today as I looked for something for supper. (Sloppy Joes it is, with potato chips on the side.) See, I told ya we were poor.

      The list is endless. I’m not ragging on them. I like that show. Our two boys even have a shirt each with the Dynasty guys’ faces on them. Second hand T’s. More power to them...and give Uncle Si his own show. Hell, the show’ll pay for itself with just how many Vets tune in. He’s an out-front rep for all the Vets here in America. He may be off-the-wall at times, but so be it. Every Vet in America has that right. They earned it.

      Reality show material, that’s us. Take for instance, again, Duck Dynasty. They hunt, fish, and invent. Us? We punt on first down. We wish, rent, vent, and sometimes we’ve mentally came and went. But we’re still here...somehow. Fran is the glue. I’m the gum on the bottom of your shoe, but somehow we both manage to make things stick.

      As for the kids, they are the jigsaw puzzles yet to be put together. In that regard, I’m the puzzle straight from the factory that has a few missing pieces before you crack open the box. Like I stated before, the subject of my mother will be dealt with later.

      4

      For seven years we were the perfect grandparents. You know, the old legends in our own minds syndrome? Three wonderful and beautiful grandkids. I know, I’m bragging, but we AARP types are allowed.

      We were there for every occasion. Never missed a birthday, doctor appointment, school function, you name it, and we loved it. We were almost out of the woods, child-rearing wise, and now it was nearly time to jump head first into spoiling the next generation of Lords, and driving their parents crazy with what we’d allow and ol’ mom and dad wouldn’t. You see, paybacks are hell, and we’d been storing ammo for years.

      We were always there for them and their mom and dad. And we were appreciated...I think. Didn’t matter, we weren’t there to be appreciated, we were there to join in, to show all three grandkids that we had their backs, loved them, and they were never to feel their lives were lacking for anything. Little did we know what March 9, 2009 would bring.

      If ever need be, and a need was there, we were there, never missed a beat, whether it be to show them love, give them a hug, or give them shelter, food, clothes, the newest Whatever Box, a lung, a place to stay all night, all week, all year, if mom and dad needed to get away, or just a little time to themselves. Built-in babysitters? You bet. We were there for them, from afar...about a half mile. Made just dropping in very handy. Besides, their dad had a hard time keeping a job. I made good money at the time and didn’t mind helping out anyway I could. As with my mother, more about the kids’ dad later.

      We first became the saintly grandparents all grandparents believe them-selves to be at a very young age. You see, our daughter was only seventeen, unmarried, when eleven pound Bub docked at our port. We never had any

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