Over the summer, we were fortunate to spend time with our grandchildren. One of their favorite outings was a rock climbing gym in Katy.

This past weekend, our son, Chris, decided he wanted to take a look because his children talked non-stop about their climbing adventures.

When he was young, Chris fearlessly climbed everything, and I remember taking him to a rock climbing gym when he was in Cub Scouts where he fearlessly scaled every wall he was old enough to tackle.

That fearlessness was evident in his children as they climbed to the top of all the walls in an area set up for younger children and teens.

This time, dad was along, and the older children wanted to climb the bigger walls.

The only way to do that was to have an adult take a belay class to learn how to hold the ropes and assist climbers up and down the walls.

Chris readily volunteered and, after an hour, he was certified. The older two children headed off to find a wall while the younger ones played in a room right next to the grown-up climbing area.

The only open beginner spot was at the end of the wall, but we figured the site would be a good starting point. Our eldest granddaughter went first, and I swallowed hard seeing how high the wall was.

She carefully started up the wall and, about three fourths of the way up, looked down and froze. The distance between her and the ground was at least 30 feet, and it was the highest she’d ever been.

Her dad quickly realized the predicament she was in, and he coaxed her to come down. At first, she didn’t want to, but she eventually made her way back down to the ground.

By the time she was in arms’ reach, Chris pulled her to him and reassured her she’d done a great job.

But she’d been spooked by the height, rightly so, and said she wasn’t going back up.

Most of us have been scared by something in our lives – a horse bucked while we were riding, an unexpected fender bender makes us nervous every time we get behind the wheel or we find ourselves avoiding situations out of our comfort zone.

We knew the only way Kylie could conquer her fear was to go back up, but that’s a tall order for a 10-year-old.

As she sat next to us, shaking, her dad told her she didn’t have to go back up unless she wanted to. Silently, she kept looking at the wall, apprehension evident in her eyes.

After a few minutes, she stood up and said she wanted to try again. But she asked if her dad could move the rope over to a section that wasn’t on the end. She said not being able to put her foot on a foothold was what spooked her.

He hooked her up to the ropes and told her to go for it. We watched her take a deep breath and begin climbing.

Both of us had tears in our eyes as that brave young girl went all the way to the top of the wall. She came down with a huge smile on her face, and her dad spun her around and around, telling her how proud he was of her for going back up that wall.

Conquering our fears isn’t easy to do, but when we do, we’re left with a feeling of accomplishment no one can take away from us.

Buoyed with confidence, we can take chances and go beyond what’s comfortable because we did something we were scared to do.

And we survived.

Step by step, Kylie beat back her fear and emerged triumphant.

I hope she knows how proud we all are of her. But more importantly, I hope she understands how proud she should be of herself.

This column was originally published in The Fort Bend Herald. 

 

 

I caught the tail end of a movie from the late 1980’s, “Baby Boom,” starring Diane Keaton. She’s a ruthless businesswoman in New York City on her way up the corporate ladder.

Life changes dramatically when Keaton inherits a toddler from a distant cousin and has to adjust her life to raise Elizabeth.

Keaton moves to a farmhouse in Vermont she’s dreamed about for years. She thinks the old place will be perfect and jumps right in. Turns out the house has all kinds of problems, and it costs her a fortune to fix it up.

I can relate to that character as I’ve jumped into so many situations, regretting almost as many as I celebrated.

The first car I ever bought was a small Honda. They were new to the automobile line back in the early 1980s, but I didn’t need a big car. That white hatchback was the right size for my son and me, and so was the price.

I bought it from a showroom that didn’t haggle with the price. Those first Hondas were priced like television sets – the low price was the final price.

We kept that car until baby number two was coming, and then traded it to a friend for a minivan.

The last we heard, the hatchback went on to rack up over 200,000 miles on the odometer.

Never regretted buying that car for a minute.

I did regret buying an exercise bicycle.

Getting in shape in one’s living room has been around for a long time, but VHS tapes made it possible for anyone to pop an aerobics tape into the VCR and exercise alone.

The tapes were good, but I thought I needed to ramp up the routine. I bought an exercise bicycle from a friend. His wife seldom used it and I got the bike for a good price.

I rode it a few times and got bored quickly with only seeing my bedroom walls.

After a few months, I regretfully realized the exercise bike was the best coat rack I’d ever bought.

So, I bought a used bicycle, thinking I could tool around the neighborhood with my young son on the back of the bike and my elder boy riding his Hot Wheels car alongside us.

Young son screamed like a banshee the entire time, and sitting on a bicycle for more than 20 minutes was not comfortable or fun.

Sold both bikes and never regretted seeing them leave the house.

A co-worker recommended some stock when I was in my early 20s. I wanted to be like a Wall Street tycoon and make a fortune dealing in stocks.

So I bought a few shares of a stock he recommended at $20 apiece, dreaming of the piles of money I’d make.

There wasn’t any wheeling.

Wasn’t any dealing.

Just a steady decline in price, but I held onto the stock, believing that one day, the price would skyrocket.

Thirty years later, one share of that stock was worth one cent.

That was a deal I regretted for three decades.

Still, some things are worth it. I might regret the extra inches on my hips, but I don’t regret the Pralines and Cream Blue Bell ice cream on nights when I was feeling a little blue.

Nor do I regret the decadent Baklava Cheesecake covered in caramel syrup my sisters and I practically licked off the plate on a recent get together.

Choices are made and we live with the satisfaction of having made a great decision or the regret at having been a dope.

So walk past the exercise bike and pass the Blue Bell.

Life’s too short to live it with regrets.

This column was originally published in The Fort Bend Herald. 

I grew up thinking Elizabeth Taylor was my cousin.

“Poor Liz,” my mom would say with a sigh. “She’s back in the hospital. Her back’s acting up again. And she’s divorced another husband.”

Elizabeth Taylor was my mother’s favorite actress. From the time mom was a teenager, she’d hurry to the drugstore after school to pick up the latest fan magazine and read every word about the movie stars.

She wanted to know all the details about her favorite stars – Jimmy Stewart, Susan Hayward, Spencer Tracy and, most importantly, the queen herself, Elizabeth Taylor.

Mom talked about Liz so much and with such familiarity, I thought she was related to our family, and we should light a candle at church to atone for Liz’s wayward lifestyle.

These days, we don’t have to wait for the latest magazine to show up in the grocery store check-out line to find out about the lifestyles of the rich and famous.

All we have to do is click around on the internet, and we can find out every secret about every star in every country.

Besides the fact that most of that information’s untrue – just as it was in the 1950s – the juiciest tidbits on the Internet come with the headache of clickbait.

According to the Urban Dictionary, the bait is a link that makes readers want to click on it.

“You won’t believe what this guy does after he works out…”

“Big companies hate her…”

“Four thousand ways to reuse a plastic bag…”

Just like the fan magazines, we want to know the answers to these questions. Could a shark really eat a Navy helicopter? What truths did Pam and Jim from “The Office” teach us about love? And how could we pass up an article telling us all the ugly truths about “Gilligan’s Island?”

That’s the trick – they know people want to look behind the curtain and find out the real reason Ethel was always a few pounds heavier than Lucy.

Clickbait does everything it can to reel readers in, and some of the articles are practically impossible to resist, especially if it’s midnight, you’ve got insomnia and the fridge is empty.

I’ll admit it – I click on those ads, even though I know I shouldn’t. The last one I clicked on was the before and after photos of a North Carolina town that showed the impact of Hurricane Florence’s flooding.

I had to click through four articles and four photos to get to the flood pictures. They looked familiar to those of us who experienced Harvey – flooded streets, houses with water up to the roofline and elderly people in boats carrying their cat or dog.

There wasn’t any news, however, about the condition of the people in those towns, their homes, the repair effort nor up-to-date information on water and rain levels.

There were a lot of ads about making scrumptious mac and cheese dishes and 13 legit ways to scramble eggs.

And here I thought there was one way to scramble an egg – melt butter in a frying pan, crack an egg in a bowl, stir it with a fork, pour it in the hot pan and stir until the eggs are the consistency you like.

So I didn’t click on that ad because I don’t care if there are 12 other ways to scramble an egg. One is just fine with me.

Sorry, Madison Avenue – or wherever your clickbait offices are now located – this consumer has learned her lesson and won’t be clicking on anything that looks suspicious.

Unless the article’s about Elizabeth Taylor.

That I gotta check out.

Liz is, after all, family.

This column was originally published in The Fort Bend Herald. 

They say a picture is worth a thousand words.

In the case of photographer extraordinaire Russell Autrey, there’s a double treat.

Russell takes the best pictures, and he has a great story to go with each and every one he captures.

I’ve been lucky enough to hear quite a few of those stories over my 20-year history with Russell.

When my family moved to Texas, we settled in Pecan Grove. One afternoon, a neighbor told me my son Nick was pictured on the front page of The Herald-Coaster newspaper.

I went to the newspaper office on Fourth Street, bought a few papers with Nick’s picture on the front and signed up for a subscription.

Over the years, I’d open the paper and see incredible photos of every-day life. Sure enough, the photo credit was attributed to Russell Autrey, and I found myself looking forward to the next day’s paper to see what he’d come up with.

Now people can see a collection of his favorite photos and pen-and-ink drawings in an ongoing exhibit at the George Memorial Library.

Dozens of Russell’s photographs are beautifully and tastefully displayed. The exhibit includes pictures from his early newspaper days, and the black-and-white photos captured life as it was when people lived off the land and their wits.

Many of the photos I remember seeing on the front page of the newspaper, and I smiled as I looked at them, remembering the circumstances surrounding the photo of the little girl holding an icicle and the elderly gentleman kneeling in a wooden church, his eyes closed in silent prayer.

Not only did he catch moments with his camera, he also recreated daily life with a pen and ink.

His attention to detail is astounding, from accurately replicating weathered siding to including the faded graffitti on the side of a building. There’s the added bonus of hearing Russell describe the circumstances around his artwork, thanks to a QR code and the chance to listen to Russell on your phone.

There were no strangers in the gallery – all of us had a connection with Russell, either through family, friendships, our days at The Herald Coaster, now Fort Bend Herald, or a love of photography.

Even though most of us have a few more wrinkles and a lot more gray hair, we were excited to see each other in a happy situation, all thanks to a smiling man at the front of the gallery who was graciously sharing stories about his life behind the lens.

What we didn’t have time to tell him was how positively he’d affected our lives.

Russell’s genuine friendliness, willingness to talk with anyone, his natural ease with children and the elderly, and his gifted story-telling ability are as much gifts as the artist’s eye he’s blessed with.

His stories connect us to what’s really important and that’s the small, every-day moments from stopping to take time to watch the sun rise over Bolivar Peninsula to capturing the pure joy of children frolicking in the rain.

That’s the mark of a true artist – where others walk past something seemingly insignificant, Russell always sees the beauty in the every day, the ordinary and the often overlooked.

If you’re friends with Russell, as thousands are, you are indeed a lucky person. I’m so glad I’m one of those lucky ones.

Make sure and visit the free exhibit at the George Memorial Library, 1001 Golfview in Richmond, through the end of October.

Stop in and make sure you’ve got that QR code downloaded so you can hear the master storyteller describe his view of life through the lens.

This column was originally published in The Fort Bend Herald. 

“It’s time for a sister trip,” the text stated.

My sister, Diane, sent the same message to me and our youngest sister, Donna.

She was right.

Years ago, we’d take a sister trip every summer. Looking at the text, I couldn’t remember the last time the three of us got away for a girls weekend.

Life got in the way. Weddings came along and then babies and an outside-the-home job.

With those life events came understanding. Instead of seeing each other as pesky siblings, we saw each other as strong women, balancing work and family.

Years ago, we decided we needed to reconnect and decided on “sister trips” and our mom came along. One year, we all headed to Las Vegas as mom’s brothers lived there.

Our sister-in-law, Debra – who after 40 years of marriage to our brother is really our sister – and our youngest brother Jeff joined us.

We had a blast seeing the lights and action on the Vegas strip. A laser tag game was one for the books when Jeff’s only mission was to follow Diane around and blast her every time her power light came back on.

A trip to Charlotte, N.C. was one I’ll always remember. Not just because of the midnight ghost tour we took in the downtown area and touring the majestic Biltmore but because we were all together in a beautiful bed-and-breakfast antebellum home.

As our children grew into adults and grandchildren arrived, we stopped going on our sister trips. We’d promise each other that the next year would be different, but something always came up and the trip would get cancelled.

But not this year.

Diane was adamant we get together, and we settled on Houston. Reservations and tentative plans were made, but we left most of the long weekend to chance.

Our first afternoon was spent at a spa. I’ve never gotten a facial or a massage, but my sisters told me the experience would be great.

And it was.

Soft music played while the technician kneaded my tense muscles, convincing me to enjoy the relaxing music and soothing scents. The technician spent more time giving me a facial than I spend on my face in a month.

Dinner was a wonderful treat at Yia Yia Mary’s Greek Kitchen with a sinfully rich and absolutely scrumptious baklava cheesecake for dessert.

We thought we’d hit the jackpot with that, but when we happened on an 90 percent off the already-marked-down sale price at a favorite clothing store, our weekend ratcheted up to a whole new level.

It had been a long time since I’d gone clothes shopping, and I’d forgotten how much bonding takes place in the dressing room as women toss pants and shirts to each other over the doors and answer the age-old question “does this make me look fat?”

We spent our last night watching the LSU Tigers win their season opener, comparing our aches, knee troubles, wrinkles and cellulite during the commercials.

Wee reminisced about our parents, friends from the old neighborhood and reliving favorite family memories.

Driving them back to the airport, I thought about how much sisters mean to each other, from sisters by birth to those through marriage and those who’ve become sisters through friendship.

We’ve shared good times and bad, fun times and not-so-fun ones. My sisters tease me, accept me and love me unconditionally. I feel the same way about them.

I wouldn’t trade my sisters for anything, and I can’t wait until the next sister trip. Who knows what adventures await?

 

This column was originally published in The Fort Bend Herald. 

 

A dear friend is a school librarian, a position she loves.

Over the summer, she had to take most of the biographies and encyclopedias off the shelves.

Not because the printed information was outdated but because students seldom use hard-cover books for research.

The internet took the place of the encyclopedias. People no longer want to trudge to the library to find out how many home runs Babe Ruth hit in his career.

They want Google or Siri to instantly and easily give them the answer.

Contrary to popular belief, reading isn’t dead. In fact, people are reading more than ever. They’re just doing so on an electronic tablet or their cell phone.

Many are watching a movie or playing a video game on their devices, but many are discovering the joy in exploring what authors have to say.

One such writer is my great-niece Camryn Jones. Camryn is 10 years old and is a voracious reader. She gets that from her mom, Hope, who usually has a couple of books going and loves to share reviews through her Instagram account.

She passed that love of reading on to her two children, Landon and Camryn, and they’d much rather curl up with a good book instead of a video game. I also credit Hope’s husband, Benji, with loving to read as much as his family.

Hope and Benji also have a Little Red Library in front of their home in North Carolina where they willingly share the books they’ve read with their community.

Most of the books earn a written review by Camryn, and her critiques are as down to earth as this marvelous young lady is.

Camryn has also written over a dozen books. This summer, Camryn attended a writer’s camp, and I was thrilled to read one of the chapters in her book “Unknown.”

The story is about a young knight who’s also an “Unknown,” a mutant that’s rare in the year 8014.

The introduction instantly draws the reader in:

“As the dragon draws nearer, the smoke flies out of his nostrils. One by one by one. It’s a few yards away now. That was my cue. I draw my sword from my belt. It is shining silver.”

I could recap the story of the young knight and the battle, but Camryn tells the tale much more eloquently:

“I am an Unknown. An unknown is a mutant. We are very, very rare. We all have different powers. Mine is healing. I have another. It is really special. My other power is killing.”

She describes the battle between a dragon and this special mutant and how the young knight wants to protect the village from the dragon.

“I stood up and ran towards him. He looked at me with eyes of fear. He knew me. I was Unknown.”

Remember, these words come from a 10-year-old author who knows how to stack suspense, grab the reader and not let go.

I can’t wait to read more of Camryn’s writings. I know she’s going to set the literary world on fire, just like her special Unknown lit up the countryside protecting the village.

This wonderful story blossomed in the mind of a young girl where the ideas were sewn from the pages of books, nurtured by parents and then penned by a smart, independent young lady named Camryn Jones.

Unlike her hero, Camryn will never be an “Unknown.”

She knows right where she’s headed and that’s as far as her imagination will take her.

You go my darling girl.

 

This column was originally published in The Fort Bend Herald.

 

I was driving the speed limit on the way home, taking my time after a fast-paced day. Suddenly, a decked-out truck came zooming past, smoke blasting from the dual exhausts.

The young male driver was in a hurry to not only zip past me but also the two cars in front of me. He scared the daylights out of everyone, judging from the row of brake lights in front of me.

At first, I was aggravated, but then I sat back and wished him a safe trip on the speedy journey the young feel compelled to travel.

When first learning to drive, the get-out-of-my-way journey was the only way to travel. I remember thinking the roads would be a lot better off if all those old people let the younger, smarter drivers – like me – have the roadways.

But age has a way of imparting sense, so there’s a few things I’ve learned along the way.

That teenage driver might get to his destination five minutes faster than I will, but he’s spent a lot more money on gas because he was hot dogging it.

His expensive tires won’t last long and any speeding tickets he gets will be reflected in higher insurance rates and a hefty money order to the court to pay off that speeding ticket.

In the work place, older workers are overlooked and undervalued. The young ‘uns believe the company was lost before they entered the door and all the “old fogeys” couldn’t possibly possess the skill sets they have.

I thought the same thing at the age of 19. I couldn’t understand why the older turned their noses up at the new word processing machines.

Back then, I loved any new equipment they installed in the building. I still feel that way but there’s a stipulation.

I’ve come to understand we don’t need to spend a lot of money to get something just because it’s new and shiny. Sometimes, the tried-and-true method works fine.

A $700 Smart Board might be able to call up Internet sites with the touch of a stylus, but that old black chalkboard works when the power goes off and the server quits.

My cell phone is about five years old, but it still makes calls, sends and receives text messages and takes pictures of where I parked so I can remember how to find my car when I’m done shopping.

Don’t get the wrong idea – I’m not sitting in a rocking chair with a shawl around my shoulders, sporting fuzzy pink slippers while I mutter under my breath about the high price of prescription meds.

This baby boomer plays board games but streams movies and Photoshops pictures on the computer. I talk to the TV remote control when looking for my favorite shows, and I can’t imagine life without the microwave and air conditioning.

More importantly, fads come and go, reusing and recycling are a lot better for the planet and eating at home is healthier and cheaper than hitting trendy restaurants every night.

Maybe I’ve grown into practicality.

I want to race down Highway 36 just like the younger ones, but I don’t want to pay for a speeding ticket or endanger others on the road.

Occasionally I want a new computer or the latest cell phone, but I don’t want to shell out a couple of thousand dollars to replace what works perfectly fine.

The younger generation might have a fire in their belly but I’ve got money in my checking account, contentment in my soul and the sense to know that one day the young fella in that truck will realize he’s the one paying for the gas he spent saving himself 30 seconds.

He’ll wise up to the fact that he’s replacing the tires on his vehicle hundreds of miles before they’d wear out naturally if he’d act his age.

When that day comes, welcome to my world, kid.

This column was originally published in The Fort Bend Herald. 

 

In stores, yellow school bus signs have shoved flip flops and beach balls out of the way. In their place are pens, pencils and loose-leaf paper.

It’s full-on back-to-school time for retailers and a signal to educators, custodians, administrators and support staff to get ready – the kids are coming.

I’d say 99 percent of the teachers are happy to be returning to their classrooms. Their heads are brimming with ideas and they’re excited about getting to teach a new crop of eager students.

That last one percent, however, needs to seriously consider turning in their letter of resignation.

These are the teachers who describe their school building as a prison, whine about overwhelming paperwork and complain that kids today can’t learn.

They grumble about hovering or absentee parents. They think corporal punishment should be brought back and kids are lazy. They’re walking in the door five minutes before the first bell rings and racing to the parking lot after the last bell rings.

In August, they drag out the same lesson plans they’ve used since they started teaching or ones they copied off the Internet, and they refuse to try or do anything new or innovative.

In short, they’re burned out.

If that’s the case, get out.

The educational field is unique because teachers are the ones who have a direct, day-to-day impact on young people. We all remember our favorite teachers – they were the ones who pushed us to go beyond ourselves. They smiled, encouraged and told us we could accomplish whatever we could dream.

When things didn’t go right, they quickly reorganized and tried something different. If that didn’t work, they kept trying instead of giving up. They knew their student’s names and nicknames, their home circumstances and how to read their eyes to make sure they understood the concept.

They knew if the child had undergone a divorce in the home, had recently moved to the district or had health problems. Not because those details were written in a folder but because they took the time to find out what made that child tick.

Most teachers have these super powers. But if you’re only there for the paycheck and benefits, go find another career because attitude and commitment count in the educational field.

In some professions, attitude doesn’t matter.

If you’re a mechanic and you have a brusque attitude with customers, they’ll forgive that if their vehicle runs smoothly.

If you’re a dentist or doctor, most patients forgive a poor bedside manner if you make the pain stop.

Not teachers. They must nurture, care and be willing to invest themselves in their students. They have to risk having their hearts broken when a student moves, gets hurt or brings home problems in the door.

For nine months, a child spends the majority of their day with someone outside of the family. That person should be dedicated to providing the best educational experience for children. That experience not only involves knowing how to use an iPad or writing a term paper, it also encompasses associating learning with passion, fun and a desire to know more.

If you are in the classroom, you deserve all the copy paper, Kleenex, glue sticks and monetary compensation society can bestow on you.

If you’re not willing to commit, then get out before your negativity infects the entire classroom.

To those of you who make the decision to take on this superhuman job, society and families owe you a huge debt because what’s really required isn’t written in the job description. It’s written in the heart.

Never forget – the next generation is counting on you to bring your “A” game.

You should expect nothing less of yourself.

 

This column was originally published in The Fort Bend Herald.

Dinnertime is usually hectic in our house – dash in from the job, throw something on the stove and toss together a quick salad.

In between, my husband and I are catching up on what’s happened that day while my brain’s multi-tasking with how I’m going to get my paperwork finished before the dryer buzzes.

Throw in four rambunctious grandchildren, and dinner prep time becomes a three-ring circus and I’m not the ringleader.

Yesterday, I was bustling around the kitchen, and the 4-year-old was pretending to be a superhero. This particular superhero had the powers of quietly crawling along the kitchen floor and, oh yeah, he was also invisible.

So invisible, in fact, that I tripped over him and did a fabulous flip right over that little superhero onto the kitchen floor. On the way down, I smashed my elbow, hip and shoulder. However, I managed to safely slide all the plates onto the counter before I face planted.

Score one for the klutz and two for the superhero that helped me get back up on my feet.

Some people have natural grace. They glide through life, effortlessly going around every obstacle.

Then there’s me.

Tripping hazard? I’ll stumble over it. Spilled water? I’ll be the one to accidentally slip and slide through the mess. And it’s pretty likely I’m the one who left the tripping hazard in the middle of the walkway and spilled the milk.

I don’t limit my destructiveness to myself.

There’s quite a few dents on the passenger door of my car. For a long time, I thought I was parking next to inconsiderate people in the store parking lot.

One day, I realized I was hitting the car door against the wheelbarrow in our garage every time I opened it to get out the groceries. I looked a little closer, and the dents in the door were exactly at the point where the wheelbarrow handle was poking out.

So much for blaming somebody else for those dings.

There’s a huge scar on my leg from the time I had to pull my grandson out of the pool a few summers ago. He accidentally fell into the pool and, without thinking, I immediately jumped into the water and yanked him up.

Didn’t think about the two cell phones in my pocket.

Didn’t think twice about my electronic car keys in my pocket. My only thought was to get him out of the water.

In seconds, he was back on the side of the pool, both of us gasping and crying happy tears.

A few hours later, as I glumly accepted the fact I’d fried both the phones and my keys, I noticed a huge bruise and growing lump on my leg. Seems I’d hit my shin when I jumped into the water. Because I have all the grace of an elephant, I wasn’t surprised I banged myself up.

A few days later, I was at the doctor’s office with a major wound that involved a weeks’ worth of scalpel scraping to stop the infection. The huge scar reminds me I did save my grandson but also of just how big a klutz I was in the process.

I should probably congratulate myself on the fact that I did save four plates on the way down last night. My sore rear end, elbow and shoulder could be a reminder that I didn’t end up with a broken hip or arm.

I could brag and say only my nimbleness and grace allowed me to come through the event relatively unscathed.

But you and I both know that’s a lie. I wasn’t watching where I was going, tripped and ended up on my rear end on the kitchen floor.

At least there was a superhero there to save me.

 

This article was originally published in The Fort Bend Herald. 

Belay on and belay off.

Those were the words going through my head when we were standing at the indoor climbing gym, Momentum, over in Katy this week.

With 98-degree days and the African dust storm making allergies worse, we decided to search for some fun indoor activities with the grandchildren.

We found a Groupon for Momentum and off we went. This was my first time to use a Groupon, so I wasn’t sure how to access the discount. I handed my phone to an expert, the teenager working the front desk, and he had us ready to go in less than 5 minutes.

The inside of Momentum is amazing. Towering rock climbing walls line the spacious gym, and there were sinewy climbers calmly making their way hand-hold by hand-hold from the floor to the ceiling.

A children’s area had heavy-duty harnesses for the youngsters to safely climb, and our 4-year-old grandson had no problem getting to the top and then bouncing down the wall, only to repeat the process about 100 times.

I loved seeing young women climbing the walls, their toned shoulders and arms taking them to the top. We made sure to point out the climbers to our grandchildren, reminding them there’s no limit to the heights they can reach if they put their minds, arms and legs to work and not stop until they reach their goal.

Our kiddos did not disappoint. They climbed every wall they could at least five times, and their confidence and climbing skills improved with every ascent up a wall. We left with the kids sweaty and smiling.

To combine a physical activity with one that strengthens resolve isn’t easy, but it was a great way to get our visit with the grandchildren cranked into overdrive.

Video games are fun and tough to put down, but they can’t compare to watching children climb to the top of the monkey bars, learn how to swing by themselves or, in the case of our 3-1/2-year-old grandson, finally earn the right to wear big-boy underwear.

But that’s just the first half of the summer. We still have a list of activities to conquer, and most won’t break the bank.

On the “avoid-the-heat” bucket list is a trip to one of the air-conditioned Fort Bend County Libraries for the always fun and free Story Time and live-action performances, a little shopping in Rosenberg now that the roads aren’t as tricky to maneuver and the Sweet Shop in Fulshear for some summer sugar highs.

Their dad purchased season passes to Typhoon Texas, so we have water rides and fun within 20 minutes of our house. There’s no shortage of sno-cone stands in the area, so we know we’ll have no problem finding blueberry, watermelon or Tiger’s Blood sno-cones when we need to cool off.

If the budget and time cooperate, there’s the educational and fun Fort Bend Children’s Discovery Center in Sugar Land, the step-back-in-time Rosenberg Railroad Museum and fountains, walking trails and restaurants galore.

For rainy days, we’ve got plenty of coloring books, finger paints and board games to keep us busy. Connect 4 is as much fun for them as it was for their dad and uncles, and nothing beats a Popsicle or slice of cold watermelon under the fan on the back porch, even on the hottest of days.

I’m sure there’s plenty of activities we haven’t discovered yet, and I’m still searching. One thing I’ve learned – we don’t need to leave Fort Bend County, or even our back yard, to make some fun summer memories. All we need are four ready-to-roll grandchildren and a fun-lovin’ pirate’s attitude.

Let the adventures continue.

This column was originally published in The Fort Bend Herald.