Back to my Roots

Clockwise: Josiah, Aidan, Tyler, Bryce & Elijah

Most of you probably realize that Tuesday comes around with great regularity.  Me, too.  But my Tuesday always starts with a Sunday evening panicked question:  what will the blog look like this week?  However, since Monday intervenes the Sunday to Tuesday sequence, I continue my day of rest...in favor of a Monday evening full panic.  Some bloggers, I understand, actually have blogs prepared ahead of time.  What a novel concept...

Sometimes between last Sunday and yesterday, I made the executive decision to go back to my roots.  We aren't talking hair, here, though I do have a haircut scheduled on Wednesday.  You are not responsible for that piece of information...  Rather, this blog started with grandboys - 5 of them.  So let's talk about that.

Tyler (6), AKA Spider Man, made an appearance on Sunday.  He is a wiry little midget, and seemingly disinterested in out growing the short label.  However, he has a totally boy way of entering the house, after calmly removing this shoes, he launches himself into my arms.  It is an endearing greeting now that I have learned to brace myself for impact.  The really amazing part is how he wraps his arms and legs around my body.  Once maximum velocity and height have been reached, he does not need me to hold him.  I, however, might need to employ the jaws of life if I need to use the facilities.

Bryce (11), on the other hand, has decided that he big enough (almost) and strong enough (almost) to pick ME up.  He will be, soon enough, but for the moment, I do not give him an assist with his efforts - except that I raise up to my tip-toes.  He isn't fooled, but then, his back is broken, either - a fair trade.

Aidan (5), employs a winning smile - between words.  He is never short of words - or topics - or energy.  I gave him a kiss the other day and asked him to pass it on to his Uncle Corey.  Aidan insisted on seven kisses - and, yes, we counted them.  I'm not sure how many of them he shared with Corey, but it made my day!

Josiah (4), oh my.  Josiah practices at ways to be silly.  Just when I reach my own personal limit and tell him to stop, he laughs - which makes me laugh - so any remote thought he had to actually heed my words and "stop" disappears into a gale of giggles.  How do you reprimand when you can't stop laughing?  Perhaps I am one of his favorite jokes.  Regardless, he wins every time.

Elijah (2), though, won the week - twice!  I showed up to watch his sisters so the rest of the family could take a train into the city to visit Uncle Corey.  I opened the door to Aidan's conversation, Josiah's giggles, and Elijah's proclamation, "I don't want to go.  I want to stay here with Granma."  How much do I love that kid!  So how did he top that?  Well, actually: he got on the train to go visit Uncle Corey.  The girls and I had a relatively quiet and very enjoyable day.

What can I say?  I love both the coming and the going!  And I love the absolute joy of being a Granma to boys!  That's my boy(s)!!!

Passing It On

Bryce with his Great Grands!

Granma with her 3 grandsons (my 3 sons)

There are volumes written about a girl and her mother: some poetic and serene, and some not.  Sometimes "Mommy, Dearest" is tongue in cheek and sometimes spoken with reverence.  As you might have noticed, I have no idea how a daughter would say those words when referring to me.  I'm eternally short on XX chromosome offspring to fill in that blank.  But my inflection when referring to my mother would be: my mother is the dearest soul I know.

I've learned a lot of things from her over the years:  how to make angel food cake (I still leave that to her - sometimes an expert cannot be equaled).  She taught me the love of water, being a fish herself.  She taught me to sew - and my sewing machine ranks up there on the list of things to save in case of fire.  She didn't exactly teach me the love of family - it just spilled over from the person she is.  There were five us of kids.  It is only in recent years that it occurred to me that I might not be her favorite - and that, not because anything changed, but because I realize all three of my sons are my favorite.  I think she probably has five favorites. Secretly, I'm sure she lists me first, though.

More to the point of this blog, though, she taught me to be a Granma.  She taught me to plop on the floor to be on the level with a toddler's imagination.  She taught me that Play-Doh is not something to be feared, but, rather an art medium capable of reaching the stars (even if it does get ground into the carpet).  Mom taught me that anything that could be thrown away should first be used ten ways from Sunday, only making its way to the town dump in new and creative forms, if then.    She taught me the joy of baking, or at least the fun in eating something loving hands have produced - even if everyone else should be warned of the pending peril of grandlove saliva.  I love to make cookies with my grands.  Eating them is always more the adventure. 

Great Granma and Aidan

A couple of years ago, we were taking picture at a family reunion.  I asked Bryce if he wanted a picture with Granma and Grampa.  His response, without missing a beat, was, "Yes, this Granma and Grampa," pointing to my parents.  How can you be upset about that?  Jealous, maybe, but not upset.

My mother is the pied piper of grands.  She lures then in with an I-Pad and plenty of games for all levels of fun.  Or she reads them books with multiple voices bringing the pages to life.  Or she might pull out pipe cleaners, or glitter, or toilet paper tubes - AND her imagination - which is contagious.  I speak from decades of experience.  She might move more slowly than yesteryear, but with every ounce of love and attention lavished on the mini-ones as always - maybe more. 

I am Granma.  And I think I do a pretty good job of it.  But my mom is Great Granma.  And she is - great and awesome!  Thank you for the lessons!  Thank you for being the best of examples.  I measure whatever success I might achieve against the yardstick of you, Mom.  I love you, Karen Packard - now and always!

Leaps of Faith!

I've had a few career changes over the years.  My first full time job was as a legal secretary, not glamorous and not where I expected to land, either.  But then, I also had two boys in under a year and degree from the Nike University (as in, Just Do It).  The more traditionally recognized graduation waited for another child, a mortgage and 10 years...  In time, I because a trust officer, before I switched directions entirely to design houses.  Now, after another change, I carry licenses with numbers only recognizable to others in the financial planning sphere.  A door closes and another opens.  It's not the path my high school self planned, but then, high school selves are not known for being the sharpest crayons in the tool shed...

It got me to thinking about transitions.  Some happen almost without notice.  It might feel like a natural progression, but when you stop to glance back, you see that the route taken was neither planned nor linear.  Other changes are more like jumping over chasms formed by earthquakes.  You are going merrily along your way and when the earth rumbles, and opens, and threatens to engulf you.  You must leap into uncertainly with all your might or succumb to an unthinkable fate.  So, you take flight, hoping for the best.  "Best" can be a qualitative term.

I had the good fortune of waiting until adulthood before being required to launch myself toward the other side of a chasm of unfathomable depth and width.  In fact, I remember that first leap when my eldest son was life flighted to an ICU unit.  My first vivid thought was, "I'm not old enough to do this.  I want my Mommy!"  Much to my surprise, I landed safely on the other side, though most assuredly, it was not due to my superior leaping ability.  I had help.  Thank you, Jesus!

Some of my grand-loves, though, have had to face chasms of their own at ages far too tender.  Death, divorce and ill-health have burst upon them unwittingly and unwanted.  It's not that they were left to fend for themselves at such a time.  Many who love them have gathered around, shaken themselves by the devastation, but focused on the little loves before themselves.  Still, there is no way to insulate them from their ground that has rumbled and split.  Love, it seems, cannot always provide a soft landing, or at least not soft enough.

That's a lot of rambling for a Tuesday - or any other day, I guess.  No, there are no new events in the offing, but it just won't stop tumbling around in my head - my own private earthquake between the ears.  Granmas are supposed to be cookies and sweetness and kissing boo-boos - little boo-boos.  In my third generation of lives, I still don't know how to make hurts disappear when kisses and tickles don't work.

I am left with one possible remedy, the one that worked the first time around.  So as I run as fast as I can and leap as far as I can, with arms outstretched to catch and hold the objects of my utmost affection, my heart cries out for assistance.  

Dear Jesus, who loves the little children, all the children of the world.  Please help me to shower extra love on my grand-ones.  And from my heart and from Yours above, please let love be enough.  Amen.