Chili in the crockpot, apple pie in the oven, cheesy biscuits cooling on the countertop; I'm ready.
My 3-year-old triplet grandchildren are on a two-hour drive to spend the night with Granny and Papa while their parents attend a wedding. I suppose I should mention their parents are actually doing the driving and Lexi, their 70-pound shedding mutt (oops, I should say, Chief Crumb Cleaner and Toddler Soother Extraordinaire) is squeezed into a small opening between the seats.
I'm pounding this out as I watch their blue dot move north on my phone.
I imagine my garage sale collection of Matchbox cars, baby dolls, Legos, and Barbies eagerly anticipate coming alive in the pretend imaginations of these little ones.
My two older granddaughters, who live locally, will join the playtime and stay for supper. I wonder how they will feel when they see the room they usually occupy for sleepovers filled with triplet stuff.
Everybody is excited. Especially me.
While preparing my mom's recipe for chili and pie (to be honest, the biscuits came from a box), I thought of the many times my sister and I and our families were able to be together around Mom's old dining table.
Mom and Dad's world stopped when my sister and I, our husbands and all four grandchildren, were together. Before dinner the 10 of us gathered around her century-old dining table, clasped hands, while chanting our childhood prayer, "God is great, God is good..." ending with the kids spontaneously murmuring thankfulness for the little things like fresh sweet corn from the garden, and the grownups speaking of the more profound, like our health and time together.
Excerpt from Alzheimer's Daughter
Eons ago when my daughter was 6-years-old and my son two, I returned to college. Mom lived one street away, no more than the length of a football field when the kids ran through the backyards. Mom supplemented what I couldn't. She loved straight from her heart -- with simple kind words, smiles of pride, pats on the back, and hugs. She read favorite stories like The Little Red Hen and The Little Engine That Could. She cleaned up sticky messes while she taught my children to bake. She washed dirt from between their toes and under their fingernails as she planted garden seeds to grow vegetables for sustenance and flowers for beauty. She taught manners, standing them in the corner if they were mean-spirited and one time even washed a mouth out with soap for name-calling. Most importantly, she taught them to think of others and bow their heads in prayer. I often wonder who they'd be without her example. Mom gave me the gift of her care of my children so I could obtain my degree.
Fast forward three decades. I retired from teaching when I was age 57. Both of my parents died from Alzheimer's during that same year. While they were ill I worked full-time and managed their care along with my only sibling who lived 1,000 miles away. Even though I loved every day of teaching 3rd graders, I knew there was more to life, but I didn't know what. The thought of retiring felt like standing on a window ledge in darkness getting ready to jump, having no idea how tall the building or how far the drop before my feet hit the ground. I longed to spend more time with my grandchild. In the back of my mind I imagined mom's voice, "Jean. Take time with your granddaughter. Make memories. She'll grow more quickly than you can imagine." So, I retired with thoughts that I'd have time to take her to McDonald's for lunch and drive her to preschool.
Since then my life has been blessed with four more grandchildren. I see them nearly weekly. My current job description is Occasional Babysitting Granny. My salary is paid with hugs and kisses.
Families grow, change and move on. Careers and job opportunities could take my children and grandchildren out of my circle of frequent touch, but I hope to grab every opportunity to enjoy time reading books and planting flowers, watching these little ones grow. I hope they feel my love -- straight from my heart.
I have to sign off. The blue dot stopped. I hear the van in the gravel drive. Lexi is pawing at the side door. The kids are calling, "Granny, we're here!"
Earlier on Huff/Post50:
