Need a battle plan

I need a battle plan.
I love spending time with my grandchildren. Really. I just wish I could spend more and not feel rushed.
Take last night for example:
I agreed last week to watch two of my grandsons because my son-in-law is out of town and my daughter is a photographer who actually gets paid to shoot photos of brides. Sure, she could hire a babysitter, but there is no one like Gramma, except Auntie J (Youngest daughter, designated as favorite aunt by all).
Then on Sunday I agreed to go visiting teaching on Wednesday. For those not of my faith, that is when two women are assigned to visit other women in their congregation to make sure they're OK, all is well and maybe bring a spiritual thought.
Then on Tuesday, I agreed to call about some paper my hubby wanted for a project, thinking he wasn't doing the project until next week.
Naturally he needed the paper Wednesday.
So I'm flying, er, driving quickly from Layton to Ogden to get said paper supplies.
Then I'm hustling back to Syracuse to grab grandsons before daughter has to leave for her appointment.
The 3-year-old let it be known to all within screaming distance he didn't want to go with me. He was tired and wanted home. He screamed all the way from his house to my. And my boss called with a question on a story and I was stupid enough to pick up the phone and he could hear the screaming. Caller ID warned me.
I called hubby. Told him I had the paper, but I needed to go to the grocery store still to get milk and bread. He heard the screaming. He said he'd pick up the milk and bread.
I get to my house, a bit rattled from the flying and fed those adorable boys. (I had chili in a crock pot). Then I'm loading kids in the car to go visiting teaching. You're not supposed to take kids visiting teaching, but I agreed to watch the boys and I was not going to dump them on Rod (who had meetings scheduled for the evening) or Aunt J. (She is temporarily living at my house until her house is ready.) I could also see Aunt J was very tired. She's a special ed teacher at a junior high school.
Rod arrived as I was loading the two munchkins. (OK, I was chasing the smallest around the car to put him in.)
Rod offered, bless him, to watch the 3-year-old, who had no desire to go to strange house (he was twisting his face in "I'm going to scream loudly" mode).
The 6-year-old wanted to go with me. Visiting teaching... um, an adventure his mom hasn't allowed him to do.
"So do they have kids?" he asked.
"A daughter, but she's a teenager," I said.
"How about treats?" he said.
"We don't ask for treats." I said.
"Will the daughter play with me?"
"Nope. You get to sit by me."
"I should've stayed with papa."
"Tough beans."
30 minutes later, we're back at the house, loading the boys in the car, so they can go home, pick up toys (easier said then done), and take a tub (I wiped up all the water splashed out of the tub), read books (how many books can Grandma read before she falls asleep) and then hopefully they will zonk out.
It seemed the plan was going fine, until the 6-year-old let strangers into his house. Ok, they were strange to me. I didn't know them. No one told me some people were coming by to get some things. All I saw when I walked out of the bathroom (helping 3-year-old brush his teeth) was a very tall man I never met before in my daughter's kitchen.
Yup, the witch appeared, also. I'm good as a witch.
"Excuse me, who are you? And why are you in my kitchen?"
"Uh, Terra said..."
At least he knew whose house he was in.:)
Now on for tonight's adventure.