Last weekend I was in North Carolina for my grandson’s first birthday, where I nearly froze when the temperature dropped to a nippy 26 degrees. The baseball-themed, party was great fun and my grandbaby, Mac, loved the balloons, streamers, and especially the tissue paper in his present bags. Even though his cake was sugar-free, he seemed delighted to stick a fistful in his mouth.

While all in all, it was a wonderful celebration and a memory I shall cherish forever, I was frustrated. Like most walking toddlers, Mac is fascinated with plantation shutters he can repeatedly open and close, but he’s most enamored by the cabinets in the kitchen island and those under the sink. Thus, his inquisitiveness prompted child locks. Now I don’t know who invented these contraptions, but this old grandma spent four days struggling to unlock them. Finally, when I figured out the one which held the garbage and recycling products, I left the damn lock unattached. I went about my self-appointed tasks of loading the dishwasher, cleaning up the kitchen, and throwing away the garbage. I was nearly done. I turned to throw my last wad of detritus in the garbage…unbeknownst to me, Mac, had toddled over and locked the door.

I wanted to vocalize a number of my favorite expletives. (Mac doesn’t need to know that Grandma has a potty mouth…yet.) I made several attempts trying to release the lock, which refused to budge. WTH? I was disgusted with my lack of manual dexterity and my endless lack of patience. In the pantry I found a sack full of used grocery bags and filled one with the remaining debris. I donned my winter jacket and took the garbage outside to the dumpster where the cold wind slapped some sense into me and reminded me…this too shall pass.

Happy First, Mac!