Super grandma hits a wall

I'm amazing. Abby's friends have been telling me when I saw them at the library, the preschool open play day, the pool, etc. Hey, I'm just like them- getting "my" kids out of the house to burn off all that energy with some other munchkins.

My daughter and her husband have been enjoying alone time and I've been the chief cook/ bottle washer/ and all around referee.  We've had splinters (removed the old fashion way with my teeth), temper tantrums (followed by the SWEETEST chat with my favorite youngest grandchild) and the same food for four days (if it ain't broke, don't fix it).

Don't know why they are so energetic?
Ice cream anyone? 

So many choices.....

Noelle is a hoot- she's two and a half going on thirteen. "I can't wear those shoes, Bebe. They aren't cute." Imagine the inflection. She doesn't have the eye roll down but it's coming.  I hate all the princess crap on little girl's clothing. Why encourage THAT attitude... until this adorable blonde bats her big brown eyes and declares, "Bebe, I'm a princess."  Yes, darling, you certainly are. And this is a minimal Disney household- where does that gene come from?

She also changes her clothes about three times...an hour.  She's pretty good at taking stuff off and I insist she puts them back in the drawer. I don't insist on folding.  And honestly, she almost always matches. Purple with purple prints,  the right shade of pink with the cute top- nice outfits. Oops, off she goes again. When she's mad, she insists on wearing pajamas. Whatever. She wears pajamas a lot.

 When she's not changing clothes she wants to paint. Finger paint- mostly on her body and lots of water color pages. And my daughter has sacrificed her nice clean water color palette. She's not into messy toddler crafts anymore than I was at her age— this is the stuff for grandmothers to do.

Josiah is the four year old firstborn- "but Bebe, ..... is how you're supposed to do....."  Always knows the right way to turn, where put shoes after a walk, how to buckle seat belts correctly.  It's amazing his mother made it to adulthood as incompetent as I seem to be.

 He's also fun to talk to- I've been waiting for this verbal leap and it's great to chat about why the lions didn't eat Daniel.  Or how time works (there's sunshine on Ohio but Nevada is  still dark, so we can't call Mom and Dad at 6am EST). He's precise, a little nervous about water and darn helpful.



He and I built ramps with the leftover lumber in the garage, watched some Bob the Builder and washed all the Little Tikes toys in the sunroom.

They had just taken off their swim suits so of course,
we HAD to turn on the sprinkler.

This week, I have discovered the secret to happy children. Ready for my wisdom, young moms? Undivided attention. That's all it takes.  I've checked my email twice, Facebook once and actually lost my iPhone twice.  They are the center of my world and they are so content. (For whole moments at a time)

I love making forts! There's a shy lion hiding in the cave. 

I also have accomplished squat. Nada. Zilch.  No doctor appointments, no significant cooking or cleaning and I got by on two showers (no shaving).  I haven't talked to an insurance person or the cable company. I did get two loads of laundry done- all that clothes changing and messy finger painting.  I talked to the next door neighbor once.  The lawn needs mowing and my car needs an oil change. I'm a bit stir crazy but, hey—it's four days of my life!  God bless young moms and dads and thank you Jesus, for my GROWN UP children!


So today we clipped our final link in the paper chain- Mommy and Daddy will be here tomorrow! This morning I'm feeling pretty good about our time together.  We all returned from the swimming pool alive. The kids have all their appendages although some toes are a bit smashed.   We weren't exposed to DEET since I forgot bug spray and Calamine lotion does help with itchy bites.  I didn't actually get heat stroke from playing soccer and chase in the afternoon sun  No one ran away, disappeared into a mall or talked to strangers and there was only had one serious meltdown.  I already apologized to the kids.

So come home, Mom and Dad.  The toilet's clogged, there's no milk, the nervous dog is chewing on his foot.... and I'm tired. After all, it's been FOUR whole days.






HURRAH! They are home!

Transparent, beautiful , fragile

I'm a blessed woman. This has been a whirlwind of friends and food, a writer's workshop and a wedding.  All wild and wonderful.  There's all the Ws for today!

One more- wise friends asked me to come up to their house on Long Island Sound in East New Haven, CT.  It's a luxury to have a quiet space to process all I learned at the workshop and reflect on the wedding. And write.

With all this travel this year, I haven't done the writing I'd like to be doing so this few days is so worth the drive up through New York City.  The house is full of windows and light and the water crashes ever so gently on the sand outside the patio doors. I see lots of shutters for the winter so clearly the water isn't always sedate but this is the gentle season.

I love to walk along water, especially water with seashells. As a family, we lived near beaches for many years. I have seashells I've collected—tiny, perfect specimens of Pacific shells from Okinawa and sea glass from the Isle of Capri.  But today I found something new- fragile, translucent mollusks. They have the official name of Anomia simplex but the author I read called them "jingle shells". They are used in jewelry making and wind chimes.  I just loved their colors of peach and yellow and gold and orange.

      As the sun set, the sea reminded me of the bowl of a peachy jingle shell. 

Why did my eye go to jingle shells? Why not sturdy clam shells or curled up whelks?

As I walked, I reflected on the last few weeks- visits with old friends, creative time with new ones. The many meals and gifts I've been given and kind words spoken.
I'm feeling loved and affirmed.  And a little fragile.

Why do I, perhaps that can be a we—why do we doubt our strengths, distrust satisfaction and contentment?  Why do I look over my shoulder and wonder when the next crisis will crash into my tender world?

I think I want to stride through this good, green earth with confident stomps and howl with big belly laughs of joy. But instead, I tiptoe with awe and wonder but also with a touch of trepidation. How long can this bliss last?

These shells are created thin and fragile.

This morning's find is sea glass, trashed bottles sandblasted by the sea into smooth, safe bits of beauty. Their function long gone, their sharp edges ground down, their only role now is to be delightful and continue to return to the sand they were made from.

Perhaps that's what a crisis does to me- grinds down another sharp edge, reminds me to bring a little light into the world,  returns me to the stuff I was made from.  Not a bad lesson from sea glass or from life. 

Looking At the Underside

I'm at the Frederick Buechner Writer's Workshop at Princeton Seminary.  New Jersey is green, lush and not too hot yet. Today I optimistically put on my walking short/skirt with plans to hike to the train station to check my route for Friday's departure.  It was a lovely morning but by lunch it was pouring rain. I had left my umbrella in the car. and was soaked by the time I got to my lodging.  I had that feeling—"Tuck it into your purse," but the sun was shining.

My son attends Princeton Seminary (he's in Denver on his internship...of course. I'm here, he's out west) but even without him, I enjoy wandering the beautiful campus.

I imagine him here at the Miller Chapel and wonder which is his dorm.  Yes, seminary has dorms. He'll not miss that part.


And dogwoods. The campus has such lovely dogwoods. I haven't seen dogwoods like these for years. Many of the wild dogwoods I remember from the '80's in North Carolina and Virginia have succumbed to some dogwood blight. These are domesticated- shorter, stockier and loaded with blossoms.  Vivid green ladened with white perfection.

As I leave another stimulating session with my head full of questions and ideas, I pass close enough to a dogwood to see up into the branches and for the first time notice the underside.  Each pale, four-lobed blossom rests delicately on a three or four inch stem.  The fragile supports tremble in the breeze, they sway and bend. I admired the full tree but it was the view of the fragile stalk that held up those perfect white blooms that caught my breath.



Being with writers and thinking of writing and reading my own writing in public (gasp)— this is the fragile underside  of the words I put out into the world.  These times reinforce the wobbly pole that holds my call to write when my own fears and insecurities tell me to take up knitting instead.

Sometimes in my search for a writer's life, I ignore my intuition and end up wet and chagrined. Other times, I listen carefully and well to my heart and am rewarded with times of growth.  My emotional self and my writerly soul are nourished.  Once again I lift up the fragile words of my thoughts and musings, my fears and hopes.  This has been a day of richness.  And I trust it will bring forth beauty, like the dogwoods.