It Begins

Grandma flew in from Florida on Tuesday. As they rolled her up in a wheelchair, I was a bit alarmed. Who was this shrunken white-haired little old lady? The one that seemed larger-than-life to me as a small child, now looking so small -- almost frail -- in this metal contraption? It doesn't help that she's wearing this horrifying wig.

Then she opened her mouth.

"You know, I wasn't really excited about this trip until just now," she said.

Har har har. Same old grandma.

Our first stop? Urgent care. I got bronchitis for my birthday. I am less than enthused -- I wanted Tiffany (ok, I got that, too -- the boy is pretty damn good!) Though I'd usually wait it out, hard-headed idiot that I am, I've decided not to wait it out for the next two weeks, hacking up a lung along the eastern seaboard. I've opted for drugs.

When we get home, Gram is raving about how cute my new apartment is as we get her settled into her own room, a novelty after my one bedroom condo. She's off to the potty as I get her bag all set up. When she comes out, I realize I haven't bought enough Febreeze. Actually, there's not enough Febreeze in the world. I consider packing a flame thrower, but mine's fresh out of gas. No pun intended.

On Wednesday, she snoozes on the couch while I work. That night, I pack. This will come as no surprise to anyone who knows me well. Me, packing furiously the night before a big trip? Textbook Amy, though recent Facebook posts from my cousins Kimberly and Jillian reveal that it is likely in my genes. I have a moment of insanity when I realize I can't find my passport, considering methods for how to sneak us across the border undetected. NOTE: to any law enforcement reading this post -- kidding! I did mention she has a walker, right? That's not that easy to sneak anywhere, let alone get into the trunk of my car.

After a full day of work today, we packed everything into the car and get ready to set out. Not bad considering we leave at nearly 10pm. Adam, my beau, is coming along for the journey, acting as a chaperone to lessen Granny's NYC-induced anxiety. When I was planning the trip, and mentioned the Big Apple to her, she frowned at the idea. No interest is an understatement. So, of course, I planned a weekend there.

What kind of granddaughter am I?

I have some romanticized notion of taking her to Ellis Island to look up her mother's name, and then on to Broadway to see her first show. I'm crossing my fingers and praying that Adam will be able to run interference. She's already decided this is one boy that shan't be kicked to the curb. NOTE TO ADAM: don't get any ideas. You may have wooed the panty liners off her, but I'm another story.


We are Philly bound this evening ... and setting Grandma's expectations low with McDonald's on the way. She spills half of it in her lap. I'm a monster. This is like grandparent abuse.

So after 8,000 miles across the country with Grandma, Mom and I a few years ago for Mermaids to Graceland, and a jaunt across the seas with Mom last year for Mermaids in Italy ... Mermaids to Maine -- a solo adventure for me and the octogenarian -- begins.

Join us, won't you?