The New Refrigerator

By Ruth Smith

The best babysitters, of course, are the baby's grandparents. You feel completely comfortable entrusting your baby to them for long periods, which is why most grandparents flee to Florida.
~Dave Barry

Since I am the grandmother of seven, blessed with vast experience and lots of free time, I'm used to being called to help out in a variety of different situations, ranging from picking up a sick child at school, taking one to a doctor's appointment, or providing a place to hang out when there is a school holiday. So when my daughter called to ask if I would stay with her twenty-year-old son, Geoff, who had just had four wisdom teeth pulled, I quickly agreed.

Since my daughter had taken the day off to be with Geoff, she also arranged for delivery of a new refrigerator in the afternoon. However, she had just been called into work for an emergency meeting. All I had to do was keep an eye on Geoff, change his dressings and get a glass of water down him every two hours. Nothing sounded easier.

Arriving at my post, I showed the proper sympathy to my six-foot, five-inch grandson, who was curled up on the couch, his mouth stuffed with cotton and drool running from his slack lips.

The counter that separated the kitchen from the living room was covered with food items that are normally housed in the refrigerator and I assumed that the old appliance was ready to be replaced.

I settled myself down with a good book. At the appointed time, I woke up the patient, who insisted that he didn't want to have the packing replaced nor did he want a drink of water. I won, the cotton was changed and the soggy slimy packing discarded.

When the phone rang, I was surprised to hear my oldest granddaughter's voice. She had just been called in to interview for her dream job and she needed a sitter for her thirteen-month-old daughter.

"It will just be for an hour or maybe a little more. You're my only hope," she pleaded. I quickly weighed my options and realized I had none — I was needed.

Before long I had a grandson drooling and sleeping on the couch, a baby balanced on my hip and a dog scratching at the door to get in.

Thirty minutes after the baby's mother left with a wave and a smile, the refrigerator deliveryman made his appearance, early. He refused to make the delivery through the back door because there was a dog in the yard.

So I plopped the baby in the large overstuffed chair with a bottle and opened the sliding door to get the dog. The dog, thrilled to be included in the fun, bounded into the house and jumped on the baby, who started screaming. Geoff flopped over on the couch, mumbling. I grabbed the dog and dragged him into the master bedroom just as two men appeared with the dolly. They asked me if the old refrigerator was empty, and to my dismay I found the freezer crammed full. The men waited patiently while I unloaded the food. The baby was leaning over the back of the chair watching with fascination and the patient appeared to have returned to his peaceful slumber.

As the old kitchen appliance was being hauled off, things began to fall apart. I was faced with an empty space behind the old fridge that was littered with stray dog and cat food, dried peas, pet hair, milk bottle lids, bread wrapper clips, a broken pencil and dust.

Trying to keep one eye on the baby, I got busy with the broom, finishing up just as the shiny new refrigerator was wheeled in and positioned at the end of the counter — blocking my exit. The deliverymen returned to their truck to get some tools.


So, here's the situation: Geoff was on the couch, the dog was in the bedroom, the baby was in the chair, I was stuck behind the new fridge in the kitchen and the sliding door was open.

The baby spotted the open door and off the chair she went. My calls of, "No, no, Makayla. Don't go out!" were unheeded as she headed for the wide world beyond. I couldn't squeeze between the refrigerator and the cabinet so I had to force my ancient knees and legs up and over the counter, being careful not to kick any food onto the floor. I reached the baby just as she got the first handful of dog food into her mouth.

The deliverymen finished their job, I put the dripping items back in their new home and the dog was put back outside. All was well in the world.

Geoff stirred, peeked his tousled head over the back of the couch, and through soggy cotton and drooling lips, he muttered an indistinguishable sentence ending in "dog."

Dog! I forgot the dog. With the baby clinging to my neck, I threw open the sliding door and tore around the corner of the house to confirm my worst fear — an open gate and no dog. I closed the gate, as my mind sorted through excuses, hoping to find one my daughter's family would accept for the loss of the family pet.

Back in the house, I changed a now fragrant diaper, replaced Geoff's packing and forced water down his throat. I dug around in the closet until I found the dog leash and headed out for what was expected to be a fruitless search. To my delight, when I opened the front door, there sat a silly brown dog with her tongue hanging out, panting after a good run.

The baby's mother returned to find a sleeping baby. My daughter came home to a new fully stocked refrigerator, a tired dog in the backyard and a son sleeping peacefully on the couch.

Smiling, I said, "A good time was had by all."

I stopped by the store on the way home to get a good bottle of wine.

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