Today was the typical day with the grandkids. Well, almost typical. Except for a couple of things. The kids were crankier than usual. And so was I. It was a foregone conclusion something would happen.
The kids wouldn't go out. It was pretty outside but they wanted to stay in and fuss. The only game they wanted to play was "hit the enemy" using light sabers, which meant someone was going to get hurt. Even though they had their 4 wheeler helmets on to prevent head injuries. (Their idea.)
After about the third crying jag from them, they were too whiny for me anymore. I proceeded into the bedroom and started reading the riot act to them. I noticed the bedspread was stuffed between the wall and the bed. I squeezed back behind the bed and started ranting even more about the mess.
And went down like a ton of bricks. I started hollering in pain, the kids panicked and ran screaming for Gramps, he came running in, and all eyes were on me as I rose up from the floor like a ghost rising from the grave. And their eyes were bugging out as if they WERE seeing a ghost.
We all stood looking at each other. Then I hollered as loud as I could "GET OUT! I DON'T WANT YOU INSIDE!"
I closed my eyes for a brief instant, my leg throbbing, and when I opened them again, they were ALL gone, including Gramps.
And THAT is how an evil Grammy clears the house out for some peace and quiet.