How y’all doing? Hope everything is fine with you and yours. As for us, well, we’ve got Michelle and Montana next door — since December (daughter and teenage granddaughter). It’s been a long time for Mike and me, being around teenagers. At least on a daily basis.
Montana has finally settled in at school, made some friends, grades better, joined in activities. Had a day of shopping with the buds, who helped her pick out some styles and a bathing suit for summer.
The last activity was a talent contest. She and Kimberly sang “Dancing in the Sky”. They practiced for days, with Kimberly coming for overnights to get in more practice. They sang it really well, but concentrated so hard on getting it pitch perfect that they failed to connect with their audience and judges. So. No cigar. Or, in their case, no trophy. I hate disappointment. But we discussed how to make it better for next year.
This past weekend, Montana had another overnight friend, Casey. A sweet, beautiful girl. It was lovely weather. They went for walks, cadged bottled water off Grandma and Granddaddy, did outdoors stuff and whatever else girls do these days. It probably had a lot to do with iPads, Smart phones, and music. Sometimes outdoors and tech wonders both at the same time.
It was also perfect weather for Mike and me to have our door open that evening with just the screen door between us and the bugs — and cats — and ‘possums and ‘coons. Mike and I were reading as the evening darkened into night.
“It sure is quiet over there,” Mike remarked, eyeballing the dark windows next door. “I guess that’s a good thing”
About a half hour later, the quiet night was shattered by a bone-chilling scream. “No! Please don’t do that! Stop!” It was Montana..
I hit the door running, with Mike lagging a moment to grab the keys to their house. I didn’t care if the door was locked. I was going through that darn thing if it wouldn’t open. I slammed into their living room yelling, with only my itty bitty hands and bursting heart as “lethal”weapons. Mike was right behind me catching up and spreading out, prowling for someone to punch.
We’re not quite this old yet, but the picture’s funny.
All we got was a cacophony of barking from two little dogs, weird looks from the girls and Michelle who was saying, “What’s the matter? What’s the matter?” Mike and I were still in attack mode.
“We heard Montana screaming,” I huffed, still barely able to catch my breath.
“Muuum. We’re watching a scary movie,” Michelle said in an exasperated tone of voice with a touch of humor.
Casey was bundled up under a quilt on my end of the couch, looking up with a grin. Montana was big-eyed and apologizing. Mike and I, chagrined, told the child there was no need to apologize. It was just the old folks being paranoid.
Problem is. That was not the first time it happened. A couple of weeks ago there was an overnighter with two girlfriends and one little visitor from up the hill. The girls were in Montana’s room on the phone when they got some particularly good news. Michelle and I were in the living room talking when three of the girls screamed at such a volume and pitch it’s a wonder all the glassware didn’t explode. Before I could even find out the problem, Mike had burst upon the scene barefooted, disheveled, and white in the face. He had run across gravel and obstacles to leap the porch and come barreling in.
So, you see. If Mike and I want to enjoy our retirement years without stroke or heart failure, we’ve either got to accept the fact that teenage girls love to scream, even if they have to make up a reason, or just get the heck outta Dodge. It might be we just need to compromise because the girls are lively and fun and help us feel just a touch of youth ourselves.
In the end, though, Michelle says she is going to warn us next time they get together for a horror movie. I think that’s very wise. Granddaddy and Grandma will live longer.