Wayne County Life

OUT OF MY HEAD

By John Addyman

   My grandson Jaden, 4, has gotten to the stage in life when he is very interested in his bodily functions.   

   I know kids go through this stage. I expected it from Jaden.

   What I didn’t expect was all the narration that went with his process of self-discovery.

   My grandson is his own reality show.

   He and I normally spend a lot of time together on Fridays, when I run errands and do chores and he tags along.

   Our route includes a Meals of Wheels run, on the north side of Newark. We stop at the County Nursing Home to pick up the food containers, and head out from there.

   This Friday, Jaden asked to help get the food containers. That was fine. But as soon as I got everything packed up in the car he had some news.

   “My tummy hurts,” he said.

   “Are you hungry?” I asked. 

   “Yes. I am very hungry,” he said. “I missed snack at school.”

   I started to close the door. “We’re going to lunch right after we deliver all the meals, Jaden – you know that. It won’t be too long.”

   “That’s not why my tummy hurts,” he said.

   I opened the door back up.

   “Why does your tummy hurt?”

   “I have to go potty real bad,” Jaden said.

   Seconds later I’d gotten him out of his car seat and we were headed into the county home at speed, looking for a bathroom – any bathroom.

   Luckily, one was right in front of us.

   I’ve learned that when Jaden says his tummy hurts and he has to go potty, it’s a lot like a reaction on a nuclear sub when the captain hits the red button and the klaxon horns scream “Dive! Dive!” When Jaden needs a bathroom, parental – or grandparental –

action of the immediate sort is required.

   We got into the bathroom, moved the handicapped accommodation out of the way, and Jaden, who “really had to go to the potty bad,” let go.

   I couldn’t believe it: not more than 10cc of tinkle – about a teaspoonful – came out of him.

   “That’s it?” I asked. “I thought you had to go real bad!!”

   Seems that Jaden had been in this particular bathroom before, and remembered that it has a foaming soap dispenser – that’s why he had to go real bad. One heaping suds worth of hand wash later, we were out the door.

   On this particular ride, Jaden made sure I knew everything about what was happening to him in the back seat.

   “I burped, Granddad,” he told me.

   “Excuse yourself,” I told him.

   “Okay. Excuse me.”

   “You’re excused.”

   Minutes went by.

   “I sneezed, Granddad.”

   “Bless you!”

   More minutes.

   “I tooted, Granddad,” he said.

   “Excuse yourself.”

   “Okay. Excuuuuuse me.”

   “You’re excused.”

   He was squirming in his car seat.

   “What are you doing, Jaden?” I asked, casting him a look in the rear-view mirror.

   “I’m trying to show you my butt,” he said.

   My grandson had decided to moon me.

   Where does he get this stuff? His mother and I need to have a talk.

   He was trying to pull up his jacket and somehow pull his pants down a little to show me his hiney. I had no interest in his hiney. And the car seat had him pretty well locked down. But Jaden is a little guy who, once he starts to do something, can’t stop until he accomplishes. If he gets frustrated, he throws a fit. I had to deflect his purpose in all this activity quickly.

   “If you uncover your hiney, I’m going to bite it,” I told him.

   “Oh no you won’t Granddad!” Jaden told me.

   “And why not, Mister?”

   “Because if you bit my butt your breath would smell,” he told me.

   My mouth was moving, but no words were coming out.

   From the back seat, I could see that Jaden was studying me carefully. He knew he had old Granddad. I had to get things back in my court. 

   “So, where are we going to lunch today?” I asked him.

   In one second, the conversation had turned to a trip to “Old” McDonald’s and a happy meal with his name on it. He had forgotten what he said to me.

   But I won’t.