My Grandma

My grandmother passed away this week at the accomplished age of 91.  We have known for a while that this day was nearing, but I still find it hard to accept that the world could go on without her.  She has been a big part of my life for so long.
  
I remember telling all of my friends at an early age that my grandma was the coolest, because she wore a jean jacket.  I mean, whose grandma wears a jeans jacket?  Mine did.  Her name was Jean, so really it just made sense.  Some children’s literature could lead you to believe that grandmothers are frumpy and grouchy and funny smelling, but my grandma was none of those things.  She was active and fun and beautiful, and always, always kind.

My childhood memories of her often dwell on summers at my grandparents’ house.  Playing pick-up sticks in the sun room on a warm day.  Watching squirrels fly across the wires over their back yard.  Playing hide and seek in the big stand of evergreens.  If I pause for a moment, I can still hear the creaking of the curving steps that led to their attic.  I can feel the warm, sticky heat and inhale the faintly musty attic air.  (It was only a few years ago that I learned that the musty odor belonged to mothballs.  I have always known that scent as “Grandpa and Grandma’s attic.”  The scent of mothballs will always make me feel happy and comforted and loved.)  I can see the rows of trunks, filled with wonderful treasures that were ours to play with.  One of those trunks lives in my storage area now.  My children think it’s a pirate chest.  I don’t deprive them of this magic.

When I was ten years old, I had the opportunity to stay with my grandparents for a week- just me!  For a middle child, this was a dream come true.  They gave me freedoms that only grandparents could allow.

They let me stay up as late as I wanted, every night!  This was an amazing treat.  It probably only took one night of sitting alone in a quiet house after my grandparents went to bed to discover that there was nothing special in going to bed late.  This is when I learned that, at age 10, there really is nothing to do after 8:30 anyway.

They let me eat my favorite food, hot dogs, for lunch every day.  This is when I learned that there is such a thing as enough hot dogs.  

My grandma took me to the station where she served as an EMT.  We brought cookies that we had baked for the public servants who worked there.  She took me to her morning exercise class, one of the few times in life that I got out of bed at 6:00am voluntarily.  Everywhere we went, she introduced me so proudly.  But what I most remember is how she introduced others.  I don’t remember all of the many people that Grandma introduced to me in her lifetime, but I do remember how she introduced each one with a sincere statement of appreciation for how that person made her life better.  This is when I learned what a beautiful thing it is to truly value others.

I know that in her later years, as her body started to wear down, Grandma struggled with feeling that she was no longer useful to others.  The truth is that she made a difference in all of our lives, right up until the end.  When Sophie was 2-1/2 and Ben was 8 months old, I got it in my head that I was going to sew an elephant costume for Sophie for Halloween.  (Keep in mind that I don’t sew.  And that elephants are complicated.  They have trunks.)  Grandma was out for a visit in early October of that year.  She wasn’t doing very much sewing of her own anymore.  But she sat at the kitchen table with me for the better part of a day.  She taught me how to read a pattern, and guided me through sewing the first pieces together.  Her lessons allowed me to finish the costume after she flew home, and it turned out even better than I could have imagined!  Since then I have produced bear, puppy, and Snow White costumes, in addition to many mending projects.

Even as it became harder for her to write, Grandma continued to send personal handwritten notes to each of us for every occasion.  She never failed to tell me how proud she was of me, how much she thinks of what I am doing.  When you leave the working world to stay home with your kids, there aren’t many opportunities to receive recognition.  This validation from the grandmother I admire so much, who raised five amazing kids of her own as well as contributing to the world in many other ways, meant more to me than she could have known.

In addition to encouraging me, Grandma delighted in loving my kids and telling them how proud she was of them, too.  In her last weeks, she spent less and less time awake and engaged.  My kids would often ask how she was doing, and at one point they sent her a book that they wrote and illustrated.  They included a dedication page, which said “This is to my Great-Grandma.  Written with care from Sophia and Illustrated very carefully by Benjamin.”  My Aunt Kathy and Uncle Alan, her constant companions, read it to her, and reported that she said “Wonderful!” several times.  Even this simple word relayed to them was enough to make my kids feel so special and important.

I can’t tell you how much I will miss my grandma.  To me she was a brightly shining light, and the world seems darker without her.  My comfort is in seeing the best parts of her live on through her children (my fantastic parents and aunts and uncles) as well as many others that she touched.   I hope that some of her lives on in me too, and that I will be able to share some of her gifts with my own children.  And on days when I feel dim I can look at the notes she wrote me, and grow a little brighter again.

The Perfect Mother’s Day Gift

My kids are amazingly sweet and thoughtful gift-givers.  They often start planning weeks ahead for the perfect present, and they come up with the most creative ideas.  (There are photos of my birthday present from them still waiting to be posted…you will be amazed!)  

This Mother’s Day was no exception.  I have heard whispers for a couple of weeks now about a gift in the works.  They are even getting better at the art of secrecy, and I had no idea what was in store for me this time.  All I knew was that Sophie, Ben, and Andrew were all in on this one.  

At the appointed time today, I was asked to wait in the family room for their arrival.  Damien sat next to me with the video camera ready to go.  Moments later, in came Andrew, wearing a homemade paper mask in the shape of a seed.  Next followed Ben, wearing a gardener’s hat.  Next followed Sophie, who handed me a program for their play, The Growing Flower, put out props, and reviewed the script before they began.  It was all incredibly perfect, except…

Remember when I mentioned Andrew coming in with a paper mask on his face?  What I didn’t mention was that he came in and flung himself down on the floor, loudly whining and crying for indiscernible reasons.  Sophie started yelling as she prepared the scene.  (“Boys, it’s not ready and you know it!”  “I can’t have him whining this whole time!”)  Ben stood apart with an innocent look, although there were allegations that he provoked Andrew.

Several minutes were spent trying to coax Andrew out of the tantrum.  (“Come on, Little Seed!  Show us what you can do!)  The play started briefly, and then Andrew dropped to the floor and continued his tantrum because he couldn’t see out of his mask.  Sophie showed surprising maturity as director by telling Andrew that he could just skip the mask, and eventually agreeing to play his parts for him.  Still, frustration was apparent all around.  After multiple attempts to turn it around, Andrew finally had to be carted off to his room because he couldn’t even calm down enough to watch the play with us.

All of this was caught on film.  The tantrums, the screaming, the tears, the blaming each other.  Our less-than-perfect parenting attempts to deal with a 3-year-old's tantrum.  And finally, the play itself, although it was in modified form by this point.  (It was the life cycle of a flower, with different masks for the seed, the sprout, the flower, rain, and the sun.  There was even a set with a brown blanket for dirt, and confetti rain!)

And you know what?  It really was perfect.  In fact, having this little slice of life caught on camera was the best gift that they could have given me.  We record many moments of our lives, but never the disastrous ones.  I don’t stop to pick up the video camera when kids fight and throw fits.  I don’t record the times when I send them to time out or take away privileges.  We record the fun times, the successes, the school programs and other orchestrated cuteness, the parts that make it all worthwhile, as we should.  But some day this phase of life will be long gone, and I won’t be able to fully remember what it was like.  I won’t remember their angry little voices, or their cries of frustration.  I won’t want to relive it full-time, but I might just want a glimpse.  

If it were a different day, all of the yelling and fighting and disasters might have been too much for me, and it might have put me in a bad mood, too.  But I had a restful day today, which allowed me a better sense of perspective.  And as the melt-down happened all around us, I found myself checking with Damien to make sure that the camera was still on.  Because for just a brief moment, I looked into my future.  A future where I hope to be rested more of the time.  I pictured myself watching this scene when my kids are grown and gone.  I pictured laughing until I cried, and hitting play again.  And I was so, so grateful to have this precious, unplanned moment captured.  Our family, just as it is right now.  It really was the perfect gift.

Conversations with My Two-Year-Old

This fall I wrote down a series of conversations with my two-year-old that both amazed and entertained me.  These all took place two to three months before his third birthday.  We have had many amazing conversations since then, but at some point even the extraordinary things your child says start to become ordinary when shared on a daily basis, and you fail to write down each individual interaction.  Which is why I am glad to have captured these!

While attending a chapel service.  Andrew is entertaining himself by writing on the little slips of paper for prayer requests.
Andrew:  Can I write your name?
Me:  Sure.
A:  Should I do V and D and N-I-O-Z?
M:  Sure.
A:  Okay!  (Makes a series of scribbles on the paper and hands it to me.)
A (pulling out another paper):  I need another gift card! 

While his siblings are at school.
A:  Mommy, there’s only one boy left in this house.
M:  That’s true.
A:  Mommy, this boy needs to go to school.

Out of the blue, while around the house.
A:  Mommy, I want to do haircut for cats.
M:  You want to give the cats a haircut?
A:  Yeah.
M:  Um…we don’t actually cut kitties’ hair, Hon.
A:  Can we beard them?
M:  BEARD them?
A:  Yeah.
M:  Like…give them beards?
A:  Yeah.
M:  No, I don’t think we can do that, either.

While loading into the car.
A:  Mommy, can I have medicine?
M: No, you’re not sick.  You don’t need medicine.
A:  Medicine for whining.
M:  Medicine for whining?
A:  Yeah.  
M:  I wish, Buddy…I wish. 

Walking to the store.  It is chilly out.
A:  Why is it cold?
M:  It just is.
A:  Is the sun out?
M:  Yes, the sun’s out.  It’s just still cold.
A:  Is it cloudy?
M:  Nope – just cold.
A:  Why?  
M:  Because winter’s coming.
A:  Winter’s coming.
M:  Yup.
(Pause.)
A:  I heard Winter coming.
M:  Did you?
(Pause.)
A (gleefully): I saw Winter’s eyes!
M:  You did?
A:  Yes!  He said, “Hi, I’m Winter!”

A conversation repeated in many iterations this fall, usually in the parking lot of a grocery store.
M:  Okay, Andrew, it’s time to get out of the car.
A:  Why?
M:  Because we need to go in the grocery store and get a few things.
A:  Why? 
M:  Because Mommy needs some food in order to make dinner.
A:  Why?
M:  Because.
A:  Did God tell you to?
M:  To get the specific items on my grocery list?  Um…I guess not...