Just Wait Until You're a Mother

By Valerie J. Frost

Before you begin on the journey of revenge, dig two graves.
~Proverb

When I was a teenager, my best friend's dad told us that eventually our parents would get even with us. "Someday you'll have kids just like you," he prophesized. Now I understand that one of the great pleasures of being a grandparent is fulfilling the unconscious desire to get even with our kids for their rebellious behavior. I believe the appropriate word is "payback."

Payback can be coupled with the obsession to bag the perfect Christmas gift for our grandchildren, a gift that separates the grandparent from the stodgy, practical, parental role. Searching the uttermost parts of the city, I find it, the ultimate testimony to a grandson's delight, a Frog Sanctuary! Here is my opportunity to be a hero to the grandchildren and gloat in silent, guileful abandon at the expression on their parents' faces.

As expected, the Frog Habitat is a blue ribbon hit on Christmas Day. There are, of course, a few unexpected setbacks. The tadpoles have to be ordered, and the order sheet hidden deep within the box at the time of purchase reveals two details. One is that you must pay extra for the tadpoles. Two, if it is the wrong time of year, you will wait several months for your tadpoles to arrive. I know that all things work for good if we are only willing to wait. Even an empty frog house sitting on the shelf holds the promise of pleasure to those who are patient. However, these are points difficult to explain to four- and six-year-old boys, especially when a significant part of their Christmas present doesn't arrive until April.

Finally, in the spring, my daughter calls me at work with a detailed description of their new family members. One she describes as really big and wild. "He acts like he wants to jump out of the water," she reports nervously. This one they dub Max. The second is lovingly referred to as puny and spindly. Appropriately, he is christened Peewee. She relays point by point the care instructions provided. I giggle under my breath as she stumbles over words like live crickets and mealworms when describing their dietary requirements.

Over the next few weeks I get a regular status report on the metamorphoses. Tails are exchanged for back legs. Nubs appear that quickly sprout front legs. Finally the day arrives when they move from the tadpole pond to the frog habitat. A perfect place to house small, agile, fast jumping little frogs, small frogs that need their home cleaned on a regular basis and seek every angle or opportunity for escape. What a lovely picture -- frogs darting, daughter screaming, grandchildren laughing and scampering after small hopping green bodies. It does my heart good to know that I had a part in this picturesque scene.

Soon, though, tragedy strikes. Peewee loses his attractive green color and develops a slightly pale complexion. The concern for his health is justified when he is discovered in a rather stiff, prone position. The boys take it pretty well, much better than my daughter, who draws the duty of retrieving the small fishy body from its abode.

Miraculously a small tree frog appears on their doorstep. The timing is perfect and though we grieve the loss of poor Peewee, Max now has a new friend. Junior is small but wiry. Though half his size, Junior has a voracious appetite that puts poor Max to shame.

Everything is now status quo in the frog world. There is, however, one thing that I have not counted on. Vacation time arrives and it is obvious to all concerned that not only do frogs not travel well but they probably wouldn't be welcome houseguests. Since they need daily care, the most obvious caregiver is the grandmother who provided the darling critters. After all, Grandma must love frogs, right? She's the one who bought them. In a well-rehearsed speech, my daughter is quick to remind me of this. Suddenly this payback thing takes an objectionable turn.

Max and Junior arrive, complete with frog habitat, distilled water and mealworms. I am indoctrinated in the art of frog maintenance and dietary requirements. This includes the report of their love for sow bugs. They assure me I will have no trouble finding them outside under logs or bricks. I don't burst this bubble by revealing that Grandpa has recently declared war on every crawling insect within our property line. This chemical assault assures us of no homegrown delicacies for our houseguests.

I discover that Max and Junior are quite personable. Their tiny suction cup feet stick to the inside of the transparent domicile. The cute little throat and tummies move in and out against the plastic dome. I see the beady eyes watching, waiting, expectant, with one thing in mind: "I will escape."

Did you know that when you keep the worms in the refrigerator they go dormant, so they don't move around much until they warm up? What an educational gift! I also discover that there is a natural law that states: No matter how small, any hole large enough to fit a human hand also has enough space for a small slippery amphibian to pass through.

Cleaning the cage is a colorful event. Jumping in every direction, these two creatures might as well be a dozen. Finally, I complete my task. My hair is dripping, my damp clothes smell like fish, and the bathroom is destroyed. Nevertheless, Max and Junior are now clean, fed, and watered. Snuggled in their cozy refuge they are utterly safe and sound. This is what my limited perception tells me. Reality arrives as I check their haven and discover the top of the habitat is open and Junior has escaped. My worst fears have materialized. There are thousands of places a smart frog can hide. Fortunately, he is not one of the smart ones. Junior is located a few feet away sitting in a corner. Grandpa is coerced into his frog rescue mode and the runaway is returned to captivity.

Time grows short, and we know the grandchildren will return soon to reclaim their prize. This will not be too soon, as we have discovered that Max and Junior no longer have a desire for mealworms. The last several meals lay floating on their pond. I begin to panic, when Grandpa comes to the rescue with... sow bugs! Wow, do those frogs eat, and I am relieved. I might make it through this yet....

Vacation ends but my daughter seems to take her time coming after their pets. I am sure it's nothing personal. She sighs as she cleans their house, empties the water and prepares them for transportation. Though she lacks enthusiasm, I am sure it is due to vacation lag. Anyway, I am enthusiastic enough for both of us.

Perhaps they'd like a nice green snake, or maybe a set of drums.... The months pass quickly and the novelty of Max and Junior fades, as do my initial plans for revenge. But I'm not worried; Christmas is on its way once again. There is ample time to conceive another formidable and workable plan. After all, I do have a reputation to uphold.

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