REPORTING FROM UTAH: Day 3

I'm out here in Utah for a few weeks, visiting my two Utah sons and their families, while getting a few signings and other business in. I arrived early on Tuesday and spent a day with my favorite newlyweds in their downtown Salt Lake apartment. Adam met me at the airport to help me negotiate the bags and the rental car since I'm still in this boot/cast. I'm so glad he was there. I consider myself a sane, reasonably well-adjusted adult, but throw me into new situations with a broken foot, and you have a recipe for stress.

The estimate on the rental was nowhere near the bill the girl handed me, (while batting her eyes and giggling ridiculously at my married son.) After several rounds of discussions over the purpose of an rental car estimate, we agree on terms and I begin the parking-garage-exit version of, "Are You Smarter Than A Fifth-Grader?" If they were allowed to drive. . . maybe not. . .

After some scrumptious downtown dining and a relaxing night's sleep, it was time to return the car. I couldn't find my keys, earning me "the look" your kids give you when they think you're entering the Alzheimer's Zone. "It's the new purse," I explained. "Too many secret pockets and compartments." But here's what I'm learning. . . If you find yourself needing to explain that you're not "losing it", no argument will change their mind--only responsible action. So I summoned my best "get-that-look-off-your-face-before-I-repossess-your-college-education" stare, dug the keys out and we headed out with the balance of power clearly re-established.

I'm at the other married son's home now, enjoying some time with his precious family. No benchmark hit on this trip can equal the moment I walked into their Spanish-as-a-second-language classroom and saw the look of surprise and joy on the two oldest children's faces.

We're having lots of fun. . . but fun is attached to it's own brand of fatigue. So far, in the last 24 hours, I've had a make-over at the hands of a three-year-old, played the role of Ken to her Barbie collection, colored some truly masterful Disney coloring book pages, sang an album of nursery songs to a toddler, and watched spellbound as the long-forgotten Disney classic, "Sleeping Beauty" played across the screen.

When my six-year-old grandson returned from kindergarten we chatted about his leap from his five-year-old love--Bacugans--to Legos, built some Lego Power Miners, and then humility returned.

If you follow this blog you may remember an air hockey game played between my little three-year-old grand daughter and me. I let her win, accidentally scoring a goal, whereby she cheered, "Good job, Grandma! You're learning!"

Okay then. . . fearing my little grandchildren would begin giving me, "The Look," I decide to take my grandson on in air hockey, grand-mano a mano. I lost. Now either I really am losing my game, or he's a savant.

I'm going with the Savant theory.

So I need a little fifty-something redemption, and my book signings this weekend are my hope.
Can you relate to my little tale here? Come out to the signings and we'll commiserate. Bring your game face! The schedule is listed in the post below. Thanks!