When you realize your kid is funnier than you–And she’s FOUR!

Some years back, I took my two oldest daughters, who were five and four at the time, to the hospital to visit my ailing grandfather.

During that time, the hospital was growing, which meant, construction–and lots of it. It took us nearly twenty minutes to maneuver through the side streets to reach the gated area marked VISITORS.

We parked on the sixth floor of the garage. The elevator was broken, naturally. So we trekked down the six flights of stairs, crossed the street, and entered the main vestibule of the hospital.

Earlier in the day, my dad had told me to go to the Harris Building, 4th Floor, Room 476.

On the way to the building we passed through the hospital lobby, where an elderly gentleman was selling popcorn–cuz that’s what old people do in hospitals–well, other than die in them. Of course, the girls had to have some. A large bag. It didn’t matter, it was only a dollar. They didn’t seem keen on sharing the one bag, but one quick look from me (the one that said if you don’t behave I’m going to send you home with popcorn pimping old guy) and they changed their tune. Wise idea.

So, dollar paid, we headed down the long corridor to the building marked HARRIS, and headed toward the elevator.

We waited. And waited. And then waited some more. The bag of popcorn was no longer full. It had all but disappeared. I got a kick out of the hearing the crunching sounds that came so voraciously out of my two little girls’ mouths. It was like they hadn’t eaten in days. Wait. When did I last feed them. What day is it?

Anyway, it doesn’t matter. It’s not like you have to eat every day.

So, now they were thirsty, because of course, popcorn will do that to you. It didn’t appear that the elevator was going to arrive anytime soon so we left our post and went in search of a soda machine. Apparently, we weren’t in a hurry.

We snaked our way through the many corridors and arrows pointing, CONCESSIONS THIS WAY, until finally, we found the row of vending machines.

A few minutes later, we had a Sprite (that we shared begrudgingly) in hand and were once again headed in the direction of the elevator in front of the HARRIS building.

I pressed the UP arrow button and thirty seconds later, the door opened. Hmm. Whatdoyaknow. It works. We’ve now only been on this journey for an hour and a half. What I thought would be an hour trip total (which included actually SEEING my grandfather) was headed into its second hour already. I was trying to keep my ever growing crankiness at bay.

We hopped on, pressed the button marked FOUR, and watched as the doors closed. The three of us held tightly to the rail as the elevator bolted towards the sky, in snail-like fashion.

Once the elevator doors opened on the fourth floor, we followed the signs until we reached our final destination: Room 476.

I knocked on the door. Nothing. So I knocked again. Still, no response. I carefully pushed the door open and made my entrance known. “Hello? Grandpa? It’s Shauna, and the girls.”

There was no answer.

We entered the room then, only to find it vacated. The lights were off. The bed was made. There was no sign of anyone, much less someone related to me.

I was dumbfounded. Where was my grandfather? Had he been moved? Were we on the right floor? In the right room? What day is it? Are we still in Texas? What’s your favorite color?

I said to the girls, “let’s go find the nurse.” And of course, they thought that was a reasonable thing to do.

We found the nearest station and walked up to it. Two nurses were sitting behind the desk, talking about So-And-So And Can You Believe She Made Out With Dr. Oh My God He’s Married. I tapped my finger on the counter, knowing full well my presence would be seen as a total and complete nuisance. Still, I needed answers. And food. Now I was hungry and entering Bitch Defcon Level 5.

“Um, excuse me,” I stammered.

Nurse A cut her eyes in my direction (she already hated me) and asked (after an audible sigh), “Yes, what do you need?”

“Hi. My grandfather? He’s supposed to be in Room 476. He’s not there. Can you tell me where he is?”

Nurse A turned to Nurse B and rolled her eyes. ROLLED HER EYES! And I’m like standing right there in front of her and can see her–because I’m not blind.

Nurse A flips through a binder and says to me, “Mr. Meyer checked out of the hospital 45 minutes ago.”

What?

Are you kidding me?

And then I made one fatal mistake. I asked, “Are you sure?”

Nurse A pulled a gun out of the front pocket of her scrubs and said, “Do I look like I’m kidding?”

(You understand there was no actual gun–but there could’ve been and she wanted there to be)

Gulp.

“No, ma’am. Sorry to bother you.”

I looked down at both the girls and said, “Sorry, Grandpa Meyer is not here anymore. He must have gone home.”

My four year old shook her head at me then and said, “We sure did come a long way just to get popcorn.”

Because really? There was nothing much else to say. Plus, she was right. Except technically, I didn’t get any.