Overload. 08/13/25

I’ve heard people say that the best part of being a grandparent is you get to give the kids back at the end of the day. I think the best part is getting a chance to be with your kids’ kids and to watch them grow and hopefully not make the same mistakes you did when you were raising your own. THEN comes the “giving them back at the end of the day” part. I recall coming home from work, worn out, and then muttering to myself when I had to pick up all the toy soldiers and Lego pieces. Pro tip: resist the urge to walk barefoot when picking up Legos. In contrast, my wife and I came home last week, hot and sweaty from a round of golf. All I could think of was jumping into the shower. I walked into the bathroom to find the floor covered in Banana Gram tiles (which are just like Scrabble tiles except they come in a yellow curved pouch). This time, having the perspective of having been a parent, all I could do was laugh. But then there was that time, four years ago, with my daughter’s first child. I was a rookie grandpa, and she, at four months old, was a rookie human. My wife had a business call, my daughter had a business call, and all they said was, “Grandpa, can you look out for her for a half-hour while we make our calls?” I nodded like it was no problem, but inside I felt like I was going to jump out off a plane for the first time (except for the fact that I’ll never jump out of a plane). I tentatively approached the little seat she was strapped into. Almost immediately her smile turned into a frown followed by tears. No problem I thought, you’ve got this. Yeah, I was talking to myself (which is good because we never disagree). I took too much time trying to unbuckle her three-way buckle as her crying intensified, which only made my manual dexterity worse. Finally I got her out. I checked the clock. Two minutes had passed, only 28 more to go. I rocked her, she cried. I walked around the living room making cooing noises, she cried. Down to 25 minutes. I went outside and shook the branches of a tree. I told her this is a leaf, and this is a pine needle. Want to hold it? The cries turned into screams. I walked back into the house. Ten minutes down, 20 to go. Finally at the 14 minute mark (almost halfway through but who’s counting?) my wife and daughter both walked out of their separate conference calls and asked, “What is going on here???” Like maybe they thought I was letting her play with a pickaxe. I wasn't, I promise. Only the aforementioned pine needle. Anyway, my wife picked her up, and the baby instantly calmed down. Have I got the magic touch or what?

Our second overload comic is about getting a hydroponic garden. A lot of us have moved from the houses where we raised our kids into apartments or condos, which leave no space to plant an outdoor garden. Enter the hydroponic garden. The first time I ever heard the word hydroponic was from some friends who grew their own marijuana plants indoors. Apparently it makes lots of pot. Turns out the same is true with whatever you decide to grow hydroponically (is that even a word?). Tomatoes, basil, even kale. Although why somebody would want a bounty of kale is beyond me. The stuff is good for you because you expend so much energy trying to chew the damn stuff, that you actually lose weight eating it. At least that’s my theory. But back to basil. In fact no. Let’s not go back. John and I feel exactly the same as Al and Joanne do about basil. Enough is enough.

See you next week and have a great weekend filled with pesto,

Andy and John