Tuesday, November 15, 2016


It happened again, as it does with some regularity.  The family gathered for food and bedlam at increasing decibels.  Here is the funny thing about decibels:  they increase, one child to the next, each vying for attention, until - Mom or Dad or another adult figure ups the ante on the loudness scale and demands silence (parental oxymoron: yelling for silence).  The adult safety valve was released, but long before the echos died away, the noise returned.  Someday when I am deaf, I will smile contently at the din I can no longer hear.  I just enjoy the gathering!

Last weekend's event was to celebrate birthdays of Bryce's and mine.  That made me a special guest - well, I'm always special, right?  But there was a consensus on that day, and I expected to revel in it.

Walking in the front door, the town crier opened the basement door and bellowed, "Granma's here!"  Five munchkins, all under the age of eight bounced off the various subterranean walls and responded.  "Granma!!!!"  The thundering herd came up the stairs laughing and talking.  Elijah voice, carried above them all - not that he was the loudest, but his toddler voice continually repeated my name.  I love that kid!  I got hugs and kisses and happy birthdays and requests for piggy back rides.  Piggy back turned into piggy pile when I made the mistake of sitting on the floor.  I love all those kids!

Shortly thereafter, this Granma was rescued by a voice telling those under five feet tall to take it downstairs until dinner.  Not yet having shrunk in stature enough to be banished to the basement, I remained upstairs for adult conversation.  Elijah, feigning height he does not actually possess, remained upstairs, still spouting my name every other sentence or so.  Love, love, love!

Dinner arrived along with the diminutive noise makers.  Here things turned left:  Uncle Corey became the human equivalent of a jungle gym.  Uncle Colin participated in his share to monkey business, too.  Granma watched.  Eventually the miniature were herded back down to their lair.  Aside from a call to cake, where the cake garnered more attention than this birthday celebrant, midgets were only sighted periodically, usually bringing words like "he took my..." or "he won't let me..."

As the evening wound down, I thought maybe I had lost my Granma-ly touch (though my sanity was blissfully in tact) as I put on jacket on to leave.  Then was heard an announcement aimed downward from the top of the steps:  "Granma's leaving!"  And right on cue, the the masses fell up the stairs pushing and shoving and giggling.  I was swept up on a chorus of "I love you" and "happy birthday", sloppy kisses and hurdled hugs.  So much love!  It was indeed my special day afterall.

Oh, and glad I didn't have to pick up the basement.  I can only imagine...

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