The Minnesota Farm Woman

I was very excited to spend the weekend watching my  grandson Max and his two brothers Sam and Duke (giant, drooling yellow labs) while his parents ran a marathon race through mud and fire. Racing through mud and fire is a walk in the park compared to juggling full-time jobs, a new house, a three-year-old, and two giant drooling yellow labs.  Max is a typical three-year-old, full of silliness and enough energy to light up the night skies, and to add to the fun, is smack-dab in the middle of potty training. Since I was assured by his mommy that he goes to bed fairly early and sleeps until eight on weekends, I was planning on a quiet evening of watching House Hunters  instead of Thomas the Train and a leisurely morning  thinking about what in the heck I’m going to write for my weekly column. He stayed up way past his bedtime, which was fine with me, and was awake and ready to play at 5 a.m. That was fine with me, also, since I am an early riser. By afternoon, the skies were darkening, and I promised Max some computer time, which in the universal language of grandmothers, means “Grandma needs  a rest.”  Yes, I know he is just three and can’t even use the potty yet, but he could probably program a computer better than I could any day of the week. Mother Nature gave us a spectacular storm with wind and rain and blowing leaves and a few falling branches. I was just checking the weather report to make sure there were no tornado warnings when the lights went out.  I expected nothing less,  as the electric often blinks off and on during summer storms, but this time, there was no off and on to it, just off. Try explaining that to a three year old who wants his computer time…NOW. We opened all the window blinds to let some light in, but it was still too dark to read. Max didn’t want to play in his room, “Too dark!” and kept trying all the light switches. I couldn’t find the flashlights, but it was still light enough outside that it didn’t matter. The lights should be on soon, but we waited and waited some more. I had a lot of suggestions.  Me: “Do you want to color?”  Max: “Nope.”  Me: “Do you want to eat something?”  Max: “Nope.” Me (with a note of desperation in my voice):  “Do you want to go potty?”  Max:  “Nope.” Since I spent every childhood  summer in a cabin without electricity, TV, or computers, I tried to think of SOMETHING to do  that was entertaining. Me:  “Would you like me to tell you a story?” Max:  “Ya!”. (He’s already getting that Minnesota accent.) As we stretched out on the couch together,  I told stories of little boys named Max who went camping without electricity and little trains named Thomas who went to the potty by themselves and only wore diapers at night.  Max told a story, too,  and although his pronunciation skills aren’t quite developed yet, it was also about a potty and a little boy. I used to tell my daughter about princesses and peas, but  if potty stories make this kid happy, so be it. After two hours, the lights finally came back on, along with the TV and computer.  Me: (clapping) “Yay! Max, the lights are back on again!”  Max: “More, stories, Geema,  more stories!”  So Grandma turned the lights out, told more stories, and they all lived happily ever after until one of the dogs threw up in the middle of the new carpet.