Cheryl Hughes: Good Nap
I was lying down for a nap Sunday afternoon, after a trip to Bowling Green and before my granddaughter, Sabria, was supposed to drop by for a visit. She came by shortly after my head hit the pillow then went into the living room, where Garey was reading the paper, to ask of my whereabouts. My daughter, Natalie, instinctively knew I was in my bedroom, so she stuck her head into the room to tell me Sabria had arrived.
“I forgot her backpack,” Natalie said, “but I’ll have Scott meet you guys before school to give it to you. If they have school, that is,” she added. “There’s a winter mix headed our way.” I said okay, and told her I had ordered Sabria’s birthday cake when I was in Bowling Green, and if she needed me to do anything else to send me a text, because I was exhausted and needed some rest. Natalie turned off the light, closed the door, and yelled for Sabria to come kiss her good bye. I put the pillow over my head to drown out the noise. Natalie left, and my bedroom door opened and the light came back on.
“Are you going to play with me, Gee?” Sabria asked.
“Yes,” I said, “But first, I have to rest.”
“Okay, she said, “I won’t bother you.” (That’s Sabria talk for “I will check on you every three minutes to see if you’re awake yet.)
Sure enough, she was back in three minutes to show me the little cat that had hatched out of her Hatchimal Colleggtibles.
“Isn’t that cute,” I said, with all the enthusiasm I could muster. “Now, Sabria, let Gee rest,” I added.
“Okay,” she said, as she turned off the light and shut the door.
Three more minutes passed, the light came on once more. “Gee, when you get up from your nap, you can have these three Hatchimal Colleggtibles, and I’ll take these three.
I opened my eyes to a frog, a crab and a squirrel about 6 centimeters from my right eye.
“Okay, Bee, now let Gee rest,” I said.
“I’ll turn out the light,” she said, “Good nap.” The door closed then opened. “I said Good nap, instead of goodnight,” she said, “Get it?’
“Yes, Honey, I get it,” I said, turning away from the door
I don’t think she quite made it to the three-minute mark when she came into my bedroom the next time. I heard her go around the foot of my bed and get her foot hung in the cover that was touching the floor at the corner.
“That stupid blanket!” she said, “It almost made me spill this!”
I raised my head to see what “this” she was referring to, and saw that she was carrying the large mug inscribed with GRANDMA she had brought me back from Disney World. She had filled it with milk. I was puzzled when I saw that it was that particular mug she carried, because I kept it on a kitchen shelf and used it as a catchall for small items that didn’t have a permanent home.
“I thought this milk might make you feel better,” she said, “If you taste something chewy in it, just spit it out.
Turns out, there were only two Barbie shoes and one of those little fuzzy pompom balls at the bottom. I must have emptied the mug when I was cleaning for Christmas company.
I decided to give up my attempt at a nap, and as I walked through the kitchen, I saw the chair pulled over in front of the shelf where the GRANDMA mug lived—one mystery solved. In the living room, Sabria was sitting on the couch with all six of the miniature Hatchimal animals lined up on a tray.
“Gee, you’re awake!” she said, with sincere delight.
You know what? I’ve got the rest of my life to take a Sunday nap, but I don’t have the rest of my life to play with my six-year-old granddaughter or to drink milk garnished with Barbie shoes, for that matter.