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Grandchildren

We’re lucky to have our little Bean over so often and so blessed to be grandparents. I mean, our kids were fun, but raising them was a lot of work; emotional and physical.  For one thing, they never slept well, even years beyond the baby stage, and since they are 6 years apart, I’m pretty sure I didn’t sleep through the night for nearly a decade. They fought a lot, usually just the garden variety, “she’s looking at me,” and “he keeps coughing in my ear,” followed by bouts of hitting or relentless teasing, but I also seem to recall, buried in the recesses of my brain, a rather unfortunate incident, involving a glass bottle thrown at someone’s head, and an even more egregious accusation of someone being chased around the dinner table by someone else who was wielding a knife. Who the aggressor was in each incident, I really don’t know, as I’ve just now stumbled upon this forgotten file in my brain, stored away at least 15 years ago and aptly titled, “Cure for baby fever!!” This, after I’d spent a dreamy 5 minutes, waxing poetic about the joys of having small children in the house.

And then there’s the guilt; a heavy, cumbersome mantle sitting securely on the head of every mother; working or stay-at-home, single or married. There is no escaping it, almost each day brings a fresh supply, and we as mothers accept the heavy burden with only the small consolation that we must be doing an ok job, or we probably wouldn’t feel guilt at all. Through all this; the fighting, the drudgery, the long days and short nights, there were plenty of good times too. But, it all seemed to go by so quickly, and even though the days often dragged, there is this strange phenomenon I heard a wise person explain like this, “the days are long, but the years are short,” I’ve found this to be quite accurate.

I actually enjoy my children so much more now that they are adults, because they are the friends that I raised. They know all my quirks, and think nothing of them. They  understand my need to quote my favorite movie lines every time someone says something that reminds me of one, or when I can’t help but sing the chorus of a song that seems to suit the occasion. When I say, “oh your father, you know how he is,” they nod fondly and smile, and they politely  remain nonplussed when “The Bickersons,” our evil, alter ego couple come to call, since they’ve seen their act many times before. Best of all, neither one can be bothered with staring at each other anymore, or coughing in each other’s ears and I’m quite confident that any squabble that might arise in the future, will not sink to the level of a thrown glass bottle, nor a threatened brutal knife attack, although a bout of relentless teasing cannot be entirely ruled  out. Thus, family gatherings with adult children is generally peaceful, if not a little bit predictable.

But a grandchild! Oh, what a joy! She lights up our world with her funny sayings, and her adorable little eyeglasses. We have all of the fun and none of the guilt. We really don’t care if she has cookies for breakfast, or if she doesn’t brush her teeth. We buy things we’d never buy for our kids…a milkshake at a restaurant instead of water! Noisemakers and glow sticks at a parade! Build-a-bear at the mall, and candy at the movies, instead of smuggling in our own! All fun, no work! Unless she wants to help, in which case we have all the time in the world for her to crack eggs and help pound in a nail.

In most cases, the less time we have on earth, the more patience we have for these little ones, and this is one of the many reasons they love us. Because, something all grandparents know is that as we age our days are shorter, but the enthusiasm and vitality of grandchildren, keep our years long. And that is just one of the many reasons that we love them.

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In His Footsteps

 

When he was 6, the little boy liked to tag along after his grandfather, and try to follow in his footsteps in the snow. They were big shoes to fill; his grandfather was a man with a lot of work to do, and he did not tarry on his way to the barn. After all, a farm is no place for lollygaggers. There were 40 cows to milk, feed and clean up after, and it was wintertime in upstate NY. Plentiful snow, and wicked winds blew across the fields that in the summer, were dotted with cows; sometimes standing, sometimes sitting depending on the weather.

But the heart of winter meant that the cows had to be fed inside, and breaking a trail to the barn through the fresh snow was a very hard job, and the boy struggled to keep up. He wanted to walk where his grandfather had walked, because the snow was over his knees, and to walk in his footsteps would be easier than breaking his own trail, but mostly he wanted to walk where his grandfather had walked, because he wanted to be just like him. The little boy wanted to walk as upright and confidently as the old man did-to not waste steps or breath on foolishness, to be as steadfast as the sun, and he wanted to be absolutely sure of where he would wake up every morning, as his grandfather was, and had been every single day of his life, having never moved from his boyhood home.

The little boy did not always know where he would wake up in the morning at his parent’s house. He did not always know which house, which town, or sometimes even which state he would live in next. The boy’s parents moved a lot. They also fought often and sometimes hurled ugly words at each other like daggers, but they bounced off each other, and pierced the little boy in the heart, and made him afraid. He was often afraid, but not on his grandparent’s farm, where there was no time for fear, and no reason for it either.

There was always work to do, and it never changed. The rhythm and flow of the farm was steady; there were no high highs, but no low lows either. The boy knew that every morning when he woke up, his grandmother would be making breakfast, while his grandfather would be finishing the morning chores, and would soon come in the back door, stomping his feet to rid his boots of the snow, while his grandmother scolded him for leaving puddles on her clean floor. Sometimes after breakfast, he would help his grandmother bake, and sometimes he would work outside with his grandfather.  When he went to the barn, he knew the names of all the cows. His grandfather did not care about the names, but his grandmother did, and he did too. He knew that next summer, when he was 7, his grandfather would teach him to drive the tractor, and he couldn’t wait. He knew that once a month, on a Saturday, he and his grandparents would take a trip to Ogdensburg, 25 miles away, so that his grandmother could get groceries. He knew that she would put on her red lipstick before they left, and that his grandfather would not allow the old Desoto to go more than 25 miles per hour. He knew his grandmother would get him a new comic book when she shopped, and in the summer, he would spend the afternoon lying on his belly in the hay barn, reading his comic book, while the barn cats sniffed at him curiously and dust motes danced in the air. And he knew that every night after supper, after he and his grandmother had washed and dried the dishes, she would put Jergans hand lotion on, and give some to him, while his grandfather sat in his chair and read the paper, the smoke from his pipe drifting lazily above his head.

Although the work never ended, life was easy and simple for the little boy when he was on the farm. He wasn’t afraid of work, so there was nothing here to fear. He knew his grandparents loved him, and that they would always be in the same place, no matter where he lived. He knew that he would not hear harsh voices or jagged words on the farm. In fact, his grandfather hardly spoke at all, but when he did, he knew it was important, and he listened carefully. He knew that his grandfather was a good man, and that he wanted to be just like him when he got big.

What the little boy didn’t know, was that someday his own grandchild would want to follow him. This time, the grandchild was a little girl, and she loved him as much as he loved his grandfather, except that she said she wanted to marry him when she got big. She knew that her grandfather loved her, and would always be happy to see her. She knew that every time she ran to him to hug him, he would kneel down, and with open arms, would let her slam into him and laugh just as she did. She knew that he laughed when she accidentally gave him a black eye when they were play-fighting. She knew that she was always safe with him, even high up on his shoulders. She knew that he missed her when she was at school, and that he would play and wrestle with her on the weekends, and that he made the best scrambled eggs in the world, even better than her grandmothers. And she knew that he would play with her in the snow, and that they would look for deer tracks, and that when it was time to go into the warm house for hot cocoa, that she would follow in his footsteps, just as he had done with his grandfather, almost a half century ago.

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