Tag: grandmother

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Grace Under Pressure

Posted on by Susannah Warner

Here’s to you mom, the young and the old,

with dishes to wash, and shirts to fold.

Here’s to you mom, the rich and the poor,

the one herding everyone out the door.

Here’s to you mom, the single and married,

with lives that are full, and too often harried.

Hold on Mom, your time will come,

when there is no more work, it’ll all be fun.

So, enjoy it Grandma, now it’s all downhill,

A feast to enjoy, and never a bill.

 

Yesterday was Monday, and every other Monday during the school year, starting today, I’ll be playing mom to my six-year-old granddaughter for the afternoon. This is because my daughter and I have unusual work schedules since we both work at a hospital; she in the ER, and I work on a medical/surgical floor. She works every Monday, from 8-8, and has to rely on her father and me to pick-up Bean at school, take her to dance, and get her to bed. It turns out, that this is an exhausting afternoon for a grandmother, even a fairly energetic one like me.

it’s not that I haven’t done something like this before—my children are 27 and 21, and they both participated in a variety of sports that required numerous trips to and from school, not just after school, but before it as well…as in 4:30 am for a powerlifting program they inexplicably loved. I somehow acclimated to rising at 3:50 am, throwing on sweatpants and a hat and winter jacket (hey! This is Maine!), and sleepily driving the five miles to school, a silent teen, huddled like a turtle in it’s shell, inside a hooded sweatshirt beside me. Afternoons were more lively; sweaty, dirty and triumphant after a great game, or sometimes loaded down with friends bemoaning a loss, the afterschool task of chauffeuring my kids was always fun. I’m used to all the “running around” required of a mom with active kids—Or, at least I used to be.

“School gets out at 2:50, get there 10 minutes early, go to the office and fill out the pink sign-out sheet. Then wait in the hallway. You will have to watch and pluck her out of the herd of kids because she doesn’t always see me. Dance arrival is 3:45, her pink dance bag is in the living room. Please pack a water. Dance pick up is 5:30. Please ask her if she has homework. She should go to bed at 7:30.” My daughter is very organized, and gives explicit instructions which I appreciate, because I seem to have lost any sense of urgency that I used to employ to make sure that we were all where we were supposed to be, with clean faces and a minimum of five minutes to spare. I ran a tight ship back in the day, but now my ship is more like a pleasure cruise, and I am happy to let my daughter be the captain. She’s very good at it.

After a few clarifications, I showed up at the school and waited with the others, 3/4 of whom were moms. They’re easy to spot. Some hold coffee cups, some hold toddlers, all hold their phones, either in their hands, or stuffed into the back pocket of their jeans. They lean comfortably against the walls and chat about mom stuff, “I know! Harper always wants to watch that show,” and “I just can’t believe how fast they’re growing! My oldest just turned 15!!” The dads look uncomfortable and shuffle their feet, communication limited to a nod of sympathy to other dads, angling for a spot on the wall. I could almost hear them thinking of each other, “poor bastard, wonder how he got roped into this…” They too hold their phones, squinting fervently into the screen, which I know instantly is a ruse, because being an outsider myself, I also tried casually scrolling through my phone, so that I would feel less awkward and out-of-place, only to find to my disappointment that there was absolutely no service in that part of the school. Everyone waits for the kids to come out. Finally they do—and just as my daughter predicted, I did have to fish her out of a stream of kids. She threw her arms around my waist, and shouted ”Noni!!” She smiled a jack-o-lantern smile, while looking over her pink glasses like an adorable little librarian. French braided pig tails with loose strands springing out, and a giant backpack on her back, water bottle tucked in the side pocket, off we went, through the school doors and into the unseasonably hot September afternoon.

I can happily say that we did everything we were supposed to do (except for the shower her mother requested when she called at her dinner break; because, well, it just seemed like all too much), she had a snack, got changed for dance, got there in time, came home, had dinner, did homework, had a little tv time, brushed her teeth, read a story, and went to bed. But, because I’m a grandmother, I cheated a bit. Her snack was a cupcake from a local bakery, I let her watch YouTube videos in the car, dinner was a happymeal, and honestly, if she had whined about brushing her teeth, I’d have said, “oh well, it won’t hurt just this once!” But she didn’t.

However, even with all these shortcuts, I still found this afternoon exhausting. Usually when I’m with her, we have no agenda at all, Sure, I’ve had to pick a sick Bean up at school a few times, much to her working mom’s relief, and I’ve even taken her to an appointment or two, but usually we while away our days playing Barbies, baking, shopping, and going out to lunch.

There was a time though, when my life revolved around my children; their needs, wants and activities, and my husband and I managed it all while we worked and each went to college, and didn’t think anything of it. Not about the daycare that closed permanently one Friday afternoon, when I came to pick my daughter up, because as the daycare owner tearfully confessed, “my husband is cheating on me! I just can’t do this!” Not cleaning up vomit at 2 am, when I had to get up in 2 hours, or the battle royale faced every freaking night about homework (our daughter) and bedtime (our son). I look back now, and think, “how did we do it and not kill each other?” The answer is grace. God gives you the grace that you need for every season of your life. grace is quiet and gentle, like a soft sweater. You aren’t even aware of its presence at all, and there is only one way to know for sure that you were given grace, and that is when you look back at that time in your life and think… “How, did I do it all?” That does not mean that it’s not difficult, or that you don’t cry at night. Or nearly psychotically, endlessly, repeat Robert Frost’s “…and miles to go before I sleep” as you drive a wailing toddler to the babysitters at 5;30 in the am, both of you with blankets over your laps, and a scraper in your hand to clean the windshield of frost as you drive down the dark road because, the blower broke in your car, and you have no money to fix it.

But, I digress, clearly there is a lot of emotion left over if I  think about how hard it really was. It is difficult to be everything to someone, or several someones. It is scary to feel like your little ones future rests on your shoulders and that if you mess this up, they might end up being a bad person. It is tiring to always have to do things the right way and rarely “cheat” as I did with Bean last night. But, it is so worth it. Because someday, when you have come through that exhausting season of life, you might be the grandparent, breezing through the drive-thru, not a shred of guilt, or a morsel of remorse for that snack-time cupcake. Let me tell you, because I’ve been there, no grace is needed for this job. Hallelujah!

 

 

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Waving Goodbye

Posted on by Susannah Warner

It was dark when she left, bundled in her winter coat; full of hugs, fresh air and cookies. She was five and she was exhausted from a day of entertaining her grandparents and being the center of attention all day. I stood at the window, watching her mother, my grown daughter, strap her little girl in her car-seat. After they were settled, they looked to the picture window where they knew I would be standing. They drove off, as I blew her a kiss and waved, until I could no longer see them, just as my grandmother always did.

My grandmother was the sweetest woman I ever knew, and had the inexplicable gift of making me feel like I was her only grandchild, although she had 10 others. I didn’t see her very often, as we lived 500 miles away, but when I did, she was all mine, or at least she made me feel that way. Our visits were never long enough, and when we prepared to leave her house at dawn, she would be awake and downstairs in her pink fluffy robe. She always fluttered about, handing my parents care packages for the 8 hour trip full of things my mother never bought (Twinkies! Goldfish!) and, finally hugging me one last time, she always tucked money in my hand. Climbing in the backseat, I would spin around to see her. She was always there, clutching her robe, and waving goodbye. She never stopped waving until I could no longer see her, and I turned around with a lump in my throat, thinking of her going back in without me. She was the only grandparent I ever knew, but she was more than enough.

My mother waves goodbye to her children and grandchildren when we leave too, although her example was her mother-in-law, as her own mother died when she was 13. Still, she stands with the door half open and waves until we can no longer see her. She is a symbol of love, and a reminder that I will be missed. Is there anything sweeter in life than to know that you are special to someone, even if it is your own mother?

So, this small act of love comes naturally to me and probably to my three sisters too, although I’ve never talked to them about it. The women in my family are all very different in their appearances, political beliefs, education and career choices, but we have raised our children very similarly. How could we not, when the maternal figures we emulate were so kind and so sweet and so very motherly?

It is because of these examples, that I have no doubt that one day, my daughter will stand at the window, or the door and wave to her own grandchildren, until they can no longer see her. Then, they will turn around in their car seats, a lump in their throats, but with a fullness of heart knowing with this one gesture, that they are loved and missed, just I have always known.

 

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Bean

Posted on by Susannah Warner

My granddaughter, Bean, is an extrovert. I know this because she was one of those babies who, as soon as she could speak, would say “hi” to strangers at the grocery store. By the time she was two, she was demanding to know, “Why you wearing that hat?” and “where is you list?”  and “what’s you name?”  Now that she is four, she feels the need to introduce me to everyone before they can make the incorrect assumption that I am her mom. “Hi, I’m Chloe, I’m four. I’m big. This is my Noni. She’s not my Mama,” her standard opening statement, jerking her little thumb at me. The chosen individual, sometimes a sweet-faced elderly lady, who smiles and nods, sometimes a surly teenage boy, who bobs a head and answers a gruff “cool,” before returning his eyes to his phone, is then subjected to a monologue regarding the day’s activities, her animals, her best friends name and the location of her house, while the listener bends forward, eyes flickering to me in surprise when she uses words like, hydration, glamorous and disgusting. Strangely, even the teenage boys do listen and most people respond when she calls out to them as they pass, “I like your dress” or “I have a cat!” The ones who don’t, who hurry by, Bean excuses with a shrug and, “she didn’t hear me”, no self-esteem issues at all. On a recent family trip to Disney, Bean appeared to have as much fun meeting and greeting strangers (with a reluctant adult by her side), at the airport as she did at the parks. She collected names like other people collect stamps. Doug, a pilot from “Textas,” Cheryl, from Alabama on the way to visit her grandchildren, Sarah, a preschool teacher on her way home to NJ and Bud and his wife, congenial and friendly after a leisurely afternoon spent in the airport bar. She chatted with Doug about “plane flying,” sang “Let it Go” with Sarah, and counted to ten in German with Bud, who fondly recounted his old Army days stationed outside of Munich. She saw several of them as we boarded the plane and she greeted them like old friends as she passed their seats, “Hi Cheryl, I’m going to Disney now!” “Awww, You’re all alone!” This, to an attractive middle-aged woman, to which the woman made a sad face and said with a French accent,  “I know…so sad for me.” “Bud! Hey, Bud! Eins,  zwei…” Her openness and ability to connect with strangers is a gift, something to be admired and encouraged, but this puts those of us who love her on edge of course, as we all know about “stranger danger” and want her to be aware too. We are with her always, but there will come a time when we are not, partially why her Papa is intent on teaching her MMA, but that is a story for another time.

Today, we are first in line at pre-school and she greets all her classmates as they arrive, “Hi Liam. Hi Keira, I’m wearing short sleeves! Alistair, Hi!!!! I’m wearing a dress!” she twirls so that the boy can get the full, splendorous effect of the garment. Not impressed, he sits on the floor, pulls off his sneaker and dumps a small pebble on the floor. Bean, undaunted, moves on to greet the others. Some answer, some smile, one ducks his head, to which Bean stage whispers to me, “HE’S SHY!” There are a lot of shy ones, more shy than not. My children were also shy. They were the ones who turned their heads or hid behind me when strangers asked them questions. They did not strike up conversations with strangers and certainly did not skip up to their teachers with a hearty, “Hi, Mrs. S!!” They did not raise their hands, even when they knew the answer. Bean raises her hand to be called on at school, at church and any time a volunteer is requested. She is a wonder and a joy to her family, especially the more reticent among us, of which there are many. Bean is happiest at a party, a wedding being the ultimate extrovert experience. Birthday parties, her own or anyone elses, a close second. Mingling, networking, small talk with strangers, all dirty words to the introverts in our family, are Bean’s strongpoints.  But, the good news is that I am learning from Bean. Smiling at strangers is easier, chatting while standing in line at the grocery store feels more natural, and maybe one of these days I’ll steal a page from Beans book and open with, “Hi, my name is Sue!! I’m 45, I’m wearing short sleeves and I’m big!!!”  She would be so proud.

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Nana’s cutting board

Posted on by Susannah Warner

I grabbed this little cutting board today, as I do several times a week, and suddenly a wave of nostalgia washed over me. I made this for my grandmother when I was ten, under the watchful eye of my father, who having had four daughters, never passed up an opportunity to do boyish things with me. I don’t remember her reaction when I gave it to her, although I can imagine just how she would have looked, happy and proud.  When it was returned to me after her passing, it had hundreds of cuts in it. I had forgotten all about it, but clearly she had used it over the years. Suddenly, all those knife marks symbolized her love of family and feeding others. It makes me happy to see the lines I make, mesh with hers, both of us probably daydreaming while preparing dinner. I like to believe that the marks she made on this board, held her sweetness and the love she had for others, the generosity of her soul and her gift of making all feel special, and that a piece of her could be passed on to me like some magical kind of osmosis. I wondered what she thought about when she was using it. I’m pretty sure she was thinking of me, as I think of her now, 35 years later.