Posted 8/02/16 (Tue)
I just hate it when I visit with a lot of my friends. You know, the ones my age. All they want to do is talk about their grandkids! And show me pictures of their grandkids. I think some of them actually think their grandkids are as beautiful and as smart as mine! Imagine!
But as long as you brought it up, I’ll tell you a little about one of mine.
Slate is our youngest grandchild. He just turned three. If you’ve been around the cattle sales at Dickinson, you’ve seen him with me quite a lot. His brothers are school age and his parents work. So on many Thursdays I have the opportunity to spend time with this young cowboy.
He likes to take naps. That is one of the fine traits passed down from his grandfather. When we are at the sale, he’ll curl up on my jacket and sleep for a couple hours. When he is at our house, we read a book and then we doze off for 2 or 3 hours.
At his house, he tells his mother, “It’s time for my nap. I need my blanket and a bunny.”
The bunnies are not stuffed animals. They are live rabbits. He has to have his blanket and a rabbit to sleep with for his afternoon nap. That’s not too bad. Bunnies are soft and cuddly. His brothers raised a jackrabbit in the house. Jacks are not soft and cuddly.
But a couple of days ago, it got worse. He found a toad. A live toad. And it was “his” frog. And the damn frog had to sleep with him. I don’t mind frogs, but I’ve yet to find one that I’ve kissed and it turned into a princess, although when I was in college there was a …never mind.
Now Slate is pretty expressive. If you ask him how the drive was from Reva to Dickinson, he’ll always exclaim, “Goooood!” He’ll always express himself very plainly and really enjoys life.
A couple of mornings ago when his dad went riding, Slate was playing with his toad on the couch. Much like the rabbits, the frog wasn’t really enjoying playtime.
When his Dad came in from riding he asked Slate, “How’s your frog doing?”
Slate replied, “Good! He’s dead!”
Maybe he has spent too much time with Grandpa. He’s not potty trained yet. Much like his grandpa.
A couple of days ago, after his mother got off work, we were setting at the kitchen counter having coffee. Slate came walking by, looked up, and stated, “Mom, I need another frickin diaper!”
I think it’s time to use the toilet.