My day was to be spent with my granddaughters, and when my son, Josh, called and heard my plans, he replied, “You’re going to go get the girls even though you already have Megan? I know you like the kids, Mom, but I can’t imagine that’s what you’d choose to do. Don’t you ever just want to relax and have fun?”
I smiled in spite of the fact that I was setting aside what felt like a million things to do so I could help with the kids today. “I LOVE them,” I said. He couldn‘t imagine how very much. “I love being with them; we have fun, and they make me laugh.”
How does a grandma explain what it feels like to hold a grandchild in her arms for a hug, or tickle them silly, or let them catch up to you in a game of tag, just to see the look of triumph in their eyes? There were so many moments shared with them that I wouldn’t trade for all the time, or money, in the world.
Josh and I had just hung up when Megan came into the room, wrapped her arms around my leg, and looked oh-so-lovingly into my eyes. “Hold me,” was all she said, and I swooped that curly headed angel up into my arms. Seconds ticked away, but I let them, as I smothered her cheeks with kisses, and inhaled her child sweetness. I finally set her down, and suggested we go get the girls. That was met with a squeal of delight, as she ran to the door.
It was a huge struggle to get her car seat hooked into the car. Several minutes passed as I tried to get my hand, holding the seat belt, through the small, dark, long, tunnel hidden in the middle of her car seat. What kind of tiny-handed women do the car seat makers think are having all those healthy, strapping young children? “Darn it!” I exclaimed, when the thing locked up, AGAIN, just inches from my destination.
My little darling looked at me, her eyebrows furrowed, and said, “Don’t say that, Grandma! Say _ _ _ _.”
I couldn’t believe my ears, and didn’t know whether to laugh or cry! As hard as it is to admit it, it’s so darned cute when little ones say bad words! It shouldn’t be. But it is. “Meggie, that’s not nice, baby, don’t say that word, okay?”
She looked at me so quizzically, that I wondered if she thought I’d said the bad word, not her. I finally got the seat hooked, and the child into it, at which time she forgot all about the bad word and started rambling on, and on, about how much she loved Britty and Lindsay, and every other person she had ever known. That continued until we drove up into my daughter’s driveway, where I was met with delighted shouts of “Grandma!”
My two beauties ran toward me arms stretched out ready to share long, warm, hugs. To them I am a celebrity, their favorite. No one looks at me quite the way my grandchildren do. And certainly no one makes seeing me the celebration that they do either.
So to all the Josh’s of the world, I can only say, that until you are a grandma, there is no way you could possibly understand how it feels to love someone like this. There’s a freedom in being a grandma that I never got to have as a mother. Thus my grandchildren can be indulged, spoiled just a bit, loved on, played with, and taken back home when I get tired. My grandchildren love me, no matter what, and the feeling is mutual. Nothing feels as good as one of them in my arms whether they are being carried, tickled, fed, read to, or falling asleep. They are part of me, and when they leave my side, they take part of my heart with them.
By Barb Cage 9/09, 667 words
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