Grandma Izka and Operation 'Pluto Leaking Out of the Bag’

In my house there are two kinds of phone calls from my daughter: the ordinary ones, like “what are you up to?”, and the ones that mean I can throw all my plans for the day straight into the trash. Guess which one I picked up this time?
– Mom! – I hear her terrified voice on the phone – something’s wrong with Lima! I have to rush her to the vet! Could you take care of the kids?!

A question that was more rhetorical than anything else. At such words, my adrenaline spikes, and suddenly I discover superhuman strength and the full extent of my grandmotherly superpowers. I drop everything, jump into my sneakers, jeans, and t-shirt – the emergency uniform of the active grandma – grab my handbag and car keys, and dash to the parking lot. From Ursynów to Bielany I take the bypass, since the city is as dug up as if it were in the middle of an archeological season. Unfortunately, I hit a traffic jam near Konotopa, and in moments like that each minute stretches endlessly, like chewing gum.

I quickly absorb the latest update and lay out the plan in my head. Ala and Tomek are leaving with their grandparents for the seaside tomorrow morning. Both are already packed; Ala is at home with Kamila, Tomek is at kindergarten, Paweł is away on business in Wrocław, and Lima – their beloved little mixed-breed dog – most likely treated herself to something poisonous dug out from under a bush on her last walk. I have to grab Ala, pack their luggage into my car, pick up Tomek in the afternoon, feed the kids, and then deliver them in the evening to their other grandparents for a sleepover, since the next morning they’re setting off for the sea.

When I finally arrive, I leap out of the car and sprint up to the fourth floor like a marathon runner – no elevator, of course. I can hardly believe myself, how I managed it so fast! In the hallway I find a crying, frightened Ala, a nervous Kamila, and the limp, staggering dog trying to drag himself toward me. Ala is beside herself, watching her pup collapse onto the doormat, wagging his reddish tail only faintly. Next to him sit two packed travel bags – one for Tomek, one for Ala. Ala bravely hoists Tomek’s bag onto her little shoulder, Kamila lifts the weakened dog in her arms, and I grab Ala’s bag. We descend the stairs in silence; Ala sniffles softly, the dog whimpers.

In the parking lot we part ways in a flash toward our cars. I only manage to call out to Kamila: – Don’t worry, it’ll be all right, let me know as soon as you hear anything.

I take charge of Ala, along with the luggage and the heavy weight of her anxious tears over the life of her beloved dog. She buckles her seatbelt obediently. In the rear-view mirror I see tears rolling down her cheeks, big as peas. Quiet, compliant, she sits. I try to ease her burden, speaking to her gently, explaining, comforting, promising almost that it will all be fine, that we’re in touch with Mommy, and that she shouldn’t cry anymore. I tell her to wait for the first news from the vet. Slowly, she calms down. I let her talk and vent her feelings, and I see how much it helps.

We have three hours until it’s time to pick up Tomek from kindergarten. I plan a little detour to her favorite drugstore in Ursynów, where her adored Miss Marylka works. Ala adores her!

Her tears gradually dry. The phone rings – it’s her mother, with reassuring news. The dog has been given medicine to induce vomiting and is now resting with an IV drip. What a relief!

Ala regains hope that Lima will live. We reach Ursynów and head straight into the store. Ala greets both salesladies with delight – the charming Miss Ania is also there – but Marylka is clearly her heroine.

To Ala, Marylka is a figure worthy of a T-shirt portrait. She absolutely worships her! In the shop, she throws herself into telling the story of Lima and everything that happened that morning. By the end of her storytelling, her emotional balloon has deflated completely.

While she’s passionately recounting events, my eye catches sight of her favorite kids’ liquid soap. I decide to buy it for Ala and Tomek to take on their trip. Ala dives into picking scents, delighted with the cartoon-shaped bottles. In the end, she chooses one with Pluto, proudly adding that Tomek loves Pluto too, and this one smells the nicest!

Back home, Grandpa Mirek is already waiting with pierogi. Ala runs to him, proudly showing off the new Pluto bath soap.

I ask her to pack it in her travel bag. She obeys and runs off to wash her hands before lunch. After we eat, I sneak into the room to add a new t-shirt for her and Spider-Man pajamas for Tomek. And then my horror: the soap bottle has leaked! Half the bag’s contents are soaked, and most of the clothes are destined straight for the wash. I spread everything on the floor, trying to calculate what can dry in time and what must be replaced.

But how? How to beat the clock, when shopping with Ala is never a “quick in-and-out”?

And then – a flash of inspiration – I remember a Facebook post about virtual fitting rooms.

On the floor lie three sticky t-shirts, two sweatshirts, and a pair of shorts. Time is running!

Moments later, Ala walks in. Another blow: not only is Pluto almost empty, but her favorite clothes are useless for tomorrow’s trip. Her big eyes brim with sorrow as she apologizes.
– Don’t worry, Ala, I have a great idea! We’ll play “magic shop,” and soon you’ll get to see and try on the clothes you need!
– But Grandma, we don’t have time to play. We still need to pick up Tomek, and I won’t have anything to wear at the seaside… I don’t even have a third sweatshirt – she adds sadly.
– Come here a second, let me show you. – I set up a chair by my desk and invited her to sit beside me at the computer.
– Let’s see… which store should I take my dearest granddaughter Ala to?
– Grandma, are you teasing me? – she asks, intrigued.
– Not at all. Look, this is Google. We type in the store’s name, go to its website, click on “Kids” – see? – and then “Virtual Fitting Room.” We enter your measurements here.

Her eyes sparkle.
– Oh wow, Grandma! What next?
– Next, we get to dress up a 3D model of you! –

And there she was – virtual Ala, lifelike, but without protests about itchy fabrics. In no time, we were trying on pants, sweatshirts, dresses, t-shirts, and shorts. Ala beamed, her joy breaking through the day’s worries.

– And now, Grandma? Do we have to drive to the store to buy them? Is it far?
– Not at all! Just click “add to cart,” one by one.
– Can I do it myself? – she asks eagerly.

When the total showed up, her face fell.
– Oh Grandma, that’s so much money…

The concern in her eyes melted my heart like ice in the sun. At that moment, I could have bought her anything.
But she was serious:
– Maybe let’s just wash these things and pack them wet. They’ll dry at the seaside.

Too late – I had already paid with BLIK!
– Bought! – I cried.

She stared in awe.
– Grandma, how did you do that? Show me!

After a quick explanation, she thought it was simple enough, but worried the clothes weren’t “real.” That’s when I showed her the InPost app, pulling up the map of Dębki.
– Look, here’s your guesthouse, and here – a parcel locker! Remember the little jewelry shop we visited last summer? Right next door!

Her eyes widened.
– Tomorrow or the day after, you’ll pick up your package there, using a code I’ll send you.

I must admit, I impressed my granddaughter. For the first time, she’d seen the full cycle of online shopping. In her eyes, Grandma Izka had become a bit of a tech wizard.
– Grandma, you’re brilliant! Now we don’t need to waste time going to Pepco or Smyk or the mall…
– Exactly. Now we’ve got a few hours just for us.
– Oh, I know what we must do! – That mischievous sparkle in her eyes gave her away.
– Grandma, we must go see Miss Marylka!

She burst out laughing, jumping with the uncontainable joy of an eight-year-old with blond braids and cornflower-blue eyes.
– I have to tell her everything!
And maybe we’ll find another Pluto bottle… since this one has lost nearly all of its tummy.