How was I going to get down the stairs?

Today was a bit different to our usual Monday. I look after my two granddaughters every Monday and I normally don’t line up anything specific because I like to see how the mood or the weather unfolds. But today’s Monday had been marked up in big letters on the calendar; it was great granddad’s birthday. And the two girls were to be guests of honour. We were ready to visit with cards, gifts and, of course, a well-rehearsed chorus of ‘Happy Birthday’.

I had taken quite well to looking after the first granddaughter, but once the second one had come along I’d had to instantly find new reserves of energy and wit.

I stood at the top of the stairs. I was weighed down with four bags; toys, change of clothes, prepared lunch, nappies and other sundries, the bag of gifts and my handbag. Now to negotiate the stairs with all this and two very excited little girls. How do I lock the front door without losing a child? Which girl gets strapped in the car seat first and where is the second one? Did I put my door keys in my bag with the car key? Did the eldest do a wee before we left the flat or not? Have I packed much-loved baby doll? Suddenly the day trip is becoming full of anxiety and stress.

When they’re your own you just don’t worry quite so much about the small things, but these little girls are not mine. I have full responsibility for getting them there and back safely...and there are two of them. The prospect of a great day out seems to be diminishing and is being taken over by a level of tension – my tension. Everybody else is (happily) oblivious of my state of anxiety...

Somehow we arrived with everybody and everything we needed. After the first few squealing minutes of kisses and twirling around, I laid out the picnic. A large tablecloth on the living room floor, plastic bowls and coloured forks and spoons. Maisie has first pick being the eldest and it has to be pink while Ava quite likes purple. I plated up the home-made mini fish cakes, cocktail sausages, mini pitta breads with Baby Bell cheeses and baby plum tomatoes. (I wonder if others notice just how many mini items there are in supermarkets but all with giant price tags). It was obvious that the thought of ‘treats’ (nanny’s chocolate biscuits) would be much more appealing than my food so while most things got nibbled, quite a lot ended up on my plate. At the grand old age of 89, my mum agreed to play shops and was in and out of the kitchen with her shopping bag and two pence pieces. Great granddad shared his cake with us all and helped with checking all was ok while the girls ran up and down the stairs and I got to have a cuppa and put my feet up for at least 10 minutes before starting the clear up.

Later, when my daughter came to collect them, the youngest emphatically said: ‘’Nana, you can’t come home with us.’’

‘‘Why’s that?’’ I asked, mindful of the entertainment and chauffeuring duties I’d provided for the day. Plus my hidden levels of tiredness.

‘'There’s no chips,’' was the answer.

I’m still trying to work out the significance of that....