Staturday nights at Grandma’s

A quick memory … 

** Names have been changed to protect the innocent πŸ˜‰ **

It’s Sunday morning and I’m getting kicked in the face. Irritatingly, this happens every Sunday morning at Grandma’s.

Saturday night, after stopping by for dinner, my sister – Peggy – and I begged and begged to stay with Grandma for the night. We had been playing with our cousins for the last hour and we just weren’t ready to leave! Grandma looked at Grandpa and laughed. We were always welcome to stay, and our parents knew that. 

After they left I never thought about what they did with this kid-free time … My parents probably went to a bar or simply just went home, I don’t know – I didn’t care … I was at Grandma’s and the six of us had big plans for the evening!

My grandparent’s “wreck room” was perfect for fort building. Well all picked out our corners and got to work immediately. Within a few minutes the room was a maze of blankets only we could navigate. 

My corner was always by the back door behind Grandpa’s chair. It was perfect and I imagined living there the rest of my life. I used my favorite crocheted afghan for the roof. It was mostly black – my favorite color – and had pink and  purple flowers in the center of the motifs. When light shown through the holes it reminded me of stained glass. I could have stayed under that blanket forever. 

The next thing I knew it was bath time. We had to go three at a time. Grandma split us up by age. Peggy and I and our only boy cousin – Ryan – got the first round. This was a normal occurrence at Grandma’s. Peggy and I didn’t have brothers, Ryan was the closest we ever got. 

After bathing, all of the girls took turns getting our hair done in pin curls and rollers – just like Grandma. We would fight over who got to help Grandma with her hair. Ultimately she would make us take turns – even Ryan got a turn. 

After we were all did up, we got root beer floats in old Coke glasses. The perfect ending to the night. Grandma made us take down the fort before tucking us into my aunt’s old brass bed. Three pointing one way and three pointing the other. Somehow I always ended up with Ryan’s feet in my face. 

In the morning those are the feet that would wake me up. Just in time for church. Catholic Mass at the little white church was never my favorite part of Saturday nights at Grandma’s, but I think my love of old buildings started there … A story for another time. 

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