Avery’s Hotel California

Photo taken May 5, 2014

My delightful 3-year-old granddaughter is a forceful, bright, engaging, intelligent, and imaginative little girl. Because she is so young, everyone who plays with her is either her brother’s or sister’s ages, 7 and 10, or adults. So when kids come to play, Avery is so excited and happy, her little eyes brighten with glee and she asks, “Wanna play in my room?”

Her room is her favorite place to play. Under the canopy bed is a room all its own, complete with a small table, lamp, and couch. A book shelf filled with books and miscellaneous toys, a doll house, puzzles, games, a basket of stuffed animals, and a glider (for grandma) are all so inviting to anybody who wants to “play” in Avery’s room 

But once you enter Avery’s room, you are commanded to play whatever Avery wants to play. We celebrated Avery’s 3rd birthday at her house last September where several people attended, two of whom were young neighbor girls who were enticed into playing in Avery’s bedroom. Once there, though, the little girls found they couldn’t leave. They fell victim to Avery’s guilt trip, and that kept them captive for quite a while.

As I climbed the stairs to her room, I noticed the two of them playing with Avery. Avery told me nonchalantly that they were playing house and promptly closed the door in my face while the two little girls who, I believe, are between the ages of 7 and 9, begged with their eyes to be let out.

I smiled wickedly and ran downstairs. I too, have been “captivated” by Avery as we play, “picnic” and “park” and “Dora” – among other games. We also read books in her “house,” the space under her bed. Leaving her bedroom is an assault against Avery who thinks that once you enter her boudoir you must play for a significant period of time before you’re allowed to leave. Nobody is quite sure how long that time is though. Once there, Avery believes she is in charge of whomever enters her room for as long as she wants them to stay.

Her little friends didn’t know that all they had to say was, “It’s time to go downstairs for (whatever),” and they would have been let go. Somehow Miley slipped out unnoticed, but Savannah was left to her own devices. After a while, it was time for cake, so I opened the door and Savannah let out a huge sigh of relief, “Finally! I can escape!”

T-Ball With Kaden

Kaden at t-ball

I forgot to mention one tiny little event that occurred on my recent visit to Virginia. My son had pulled into the parking lot for my grandson's t-ball game. The tiny parking lot was surrounded by trees, so I was having a hard time imagining where the field might be. All I could see was a port-a-potty, other cars, and a bunch of trees.

It had to be behind the forest preserve, I reasoned. And it was. Unlike any t-ball field I've ever seen, this one was down a very l-o-n-g, steep trail that led to an open field. I was huffing and puffing by the time we got to the bottom of the mountain. The other team forgot to show up though, so we had to leave.



The weekend after my first visit to this field, I would return with my son's three children, because he and his wife were on a white-water rafting trip. With the help of GPS, I found my way to the parking lot and managed to get the ball, the bat, the cap, the helmet, the drinks, and the kids down the trail and on to the field. YAY! I could finally sit down.



Midway through the second inning (out of only three), Kaden came to me to tell me he had to go to the bathroom.

"Really? Now? You're going to make me hike all the way back to the parking lot where the port-a-potty is located? You can't wait? You'll miss half the game!" 



But he really had to go, so I asked Taylor to watch Zac while I trekked back up the mountain to the outdoor potty.



Out of breath and realizing I didn't have any tissue with me, but unwilling to hike back to the fields, I opened the door to hell and watched Kaden walk in. He froze in sheer panic and started to vomit. He had made the mistake of looking inside the port-a-potty.



"I can't do this!" he cried. 



"Just do it quickly," I suggested. "Don't look."



"I can't. It's too disgusting. It smells too bad."



I wanted to say I'd stay inside with him, but I couldn't. I know. I'm a horrible grandma, but I was almost vomiting too; the stench was that bad. 



We argued for a while: 

"I have to go!"

"So go!"

"I can't."

"Then what do you want to do?"


"I want to go."

"So go!"

"I can't."



After I realized the conversation was forming a circular pattern, I offered Kaden the ground outside the port-a-potty as an option.



But I had no toilet paper with me and Kaden was really concerned: "What if somebody sees me?"



So we decided he would tough it out. He hobbled back to the game, holding his stomach the whole way, and throughout the rest of that game and the next worked through the pain.

What a trooper my little Kaden was. If he ever has bowel obstruction problems, though, I'm blaming the people who are supposed to be in charge of cleaning the port-a-potty.