The Consequences Of Spending Time With A Three-Year-Old

 I am one of the countless grandmothers who are caretakers of grandchildren. While I never expected to be called into service like this, I relish it. I’m sure that many grandparents found their worth affirmed when the COVID-19 pandemic forced the world to reassess everything in our lives. Parents became teachers and providers all at the same time and grandparents were seen as valuable contributors able to step in and take up the slack for parents who needed free, able-bodied back up.

My home became a haven and a school and even though I do not have formal training I became a teacher, counselor, and an educational stand-in to a three-year old that is wise beyond her years. She has refused to let me go into old age gracefully or without a fight. My emotions are stirred and scrambled as I watch her challenge boundaries and calculate the distance between my patience and my sanity. She has kindly and confidently declared that she is the boss and while observing the way she gracefully navigates life, I have to admit she is absolutely correct!

The consequences of spending time with a 3-year-old are that you are forced onto your knees or on the floor to see the world from their level. Funny how the world looks from here. 

From a child’s point of view, everything is possible! Barbie can talk, she and Ken have a perfect marriage and their children are named Bluey and Bingo and look like blue and orange puppies. 

When I get distracted by the pinging of my cell phone or thoughts of upcoming bills or impending doom, I’m gently pulled back into her world by one sweet phrase, “grandma let’s play!”

The consequences of hanging out with a three-year-old is that I realize that I like to draw and color even if I can’t do either one very well. I understand that it’s not about my skill level and everything about the time and attention and looking into my granddaughter’s eyes when I speak to her and the revelation that she knows when my nods and grunts mean that I’m not paying attention at all.

We must pay attention because if we don’t, we will miss the real meaning of life and purpose that only a child can teach us. The lesson is, is that life is short and sweet and moments with grandchildren are precious because they are precious! They teach us that the truth still matters, and they are perfectly willing to tell it. They also teach us that love is not just reserved for one day in February, that love has nothing to do with color and everything to do with surrendering our hearts to see love in absolutely everything because everything can talk like Barbie and anything and anyone can be your child, even puppies that are blue and orange, and everyone can be family or your best friend! And nothing else matters except hugs and kisses and snacks and eye contact! 

When we take the time to look into a child’s eyes, we don’t have to look deep because everything that’s important is front and center. When our grown-up tainted minds and hearts still don’t understand, then all we have to do is wait for that tug on our leg and the sweet request, “grandma let’s play!”  I smile and wonder where she has gotten the energy while at the same time praying for more of the same. Then glancing at the clock, I calculate the time between nap time and now, I grab Barbie’s husband from her hand and acquiesce to the truth that yes, she is the boss! 

These are the consequences of hanging out from time to time with a three-year-old; you’ll be tired, you’ll feel old, but you will also feel joy beyond anything that makes sense. Finally, I learned that not all consequences are bad, some teach us patience and love and possibilities, and some reintroduce us to the child that still lives inside us.

Now, those are consequences that I can live with!

I Wrote You

 Excerpt from 

K IS FOR KENNEDY

A Love Letter From a Grandmother To A Grandson

Scriptures, Poems & Words of Wisdom for life’s journey

I Wrote You

(A love letter from God)

I wrote you.

 Created the page and then I spit your story on the empty surface.

From my imagination I formed your story and breathed life like commas so that your journey would make the world sing and dream of me!

I wrote you.

Made A to Z so that I could explain that you have no explanation except that

You are wonderful and in my image for 

when I saw you in my mind

You looked like me.

I wrote you…with limitless indelible ink and then

I read what I had written and I smiled and cried all at the same time.

For I already knew that you would desire 

to rise above the paper and above me.

And when you discovered that you could not fly without me you would fall.

I wrote you as I made room for you in my book of purpose

and I loved my creation created to create and be.

You are amazing more than you know or believe and that too makes me cry.

Fearlessly made yet you are fearful.

Powerful yet, powerless and so 

your riches, which are your inheritance

lay wasted.

Why? It doesn’t have to be because, I wrote you,

created the paper, the words, the story and when it’s all

said and done, I hold the period to be placed at the end of your story.

 

The Strong One

I am the strong one.

The one who worries and plans

For everyone else’s care.

The phone rings sounding the alarm

I hear the panic and my heart stands still.

No sacrifice too great.

I am the unofficial manager of lives

All accept my own. There’s no time 

You see for me, the strong one.

I listen, I pray standing in the gap.

I fret, lose sleep all in the name of love.

I am the one necessary element in everyone’s lives.

But I’m not.

Not needed for the joys, and thoughts

The parties and the jobs,

Not a factor until something goes wrong.

Then I am to blame

I’m expected to fix

Even if no one has really asked.

It’s my job any how

Besides, who else will do it?

Who else knows how?

I am the strong one.

The one no one calls just to say hi.

The last one content with being last.

It’s okay, really, I don’t need the concern

I freely show others.

I’m strong and that fact is my comfort.

I live an ugly truth no one can know.

Sometimes I am weak, I want to fold

But the calls don’t come.

There are times when I seek 

The ear, the shoulder that look.

No one wants to give me what I need.

But I’m the strong one

And because I am strong

I keep smiling, staying on my post.

I often wonder as I caress the nuzzle

Run my finger across the blade or

Toy with the safety cap…

…when will the call come and will 

it be

too 

late?

Excerpt from:

Messages To The Woman In The Mirror Published April 2020

The Harrisons

It was six o’clock. In the Harrison household dinner was served at six o’clock; always. One by one the three Harrison children descended the long, majestic staircase and without looking up from their expensive cell phones, headed toward the formal dining room. It was impressive to watch the two older teenagers maneuver the distance without running into the doorway or furniture. Reba, the eight-year-old and perhaps the wisest of the bunch, shook her head in disbelief, bringing up the rear and taking her place at the table. Her siblings hadn’t said two words to her all day and the silent treatment continued as they waited for dinner to be served.

Fran Harrison, the mother entered the room and placed a large white serving bowl filled with green beans on the table next to a glistening rump roast trimmed with roasted red potatoes and carrots; picture perfect, almost too pretty to eat. Then, without glancing at the empty chair at the head of the table, Fran took her seat and placed the white linen napkin on her lap.

It was 6:15. Reba, glanced at the clock above her mother’s head. Dad was late; again. Reba whispered a quick prayer, in hopes that her father would arrive soon, and dinner would begin peacefully.

For as long as Reba could remember and in all the eight years of her life, dinner was served promptly at 6. Things had changed. In fact, things had been changing for quite a while in her family. The rules set in stone by her mother, were eroding, and becoming less important in a family that seemed less and less like a family with each passing day.

“Let’s get started before the food gets cold,” Fran Harrison ordered dryly exhaling in a familiar huff.

Her children sat around the table like zombies; products of her and her husband’s overindulgence. The three had everything, and each one of them was a textbook example of ungrateful entitlement.

“Put the phones down!” She growled.

As if she’d said nothing, the two continued to send texts to their friends. Fran was furious, she had no one to blame but herself and her husband.

James had promised that he would be on time. Fran hadn’t believed him even though he’d placed a hard lingering emphasis on the word, promise. Fran had long stopped believing the man whose workday seemed to last well into the evening. 

Reba looked around the table as her mother placed food on their plates. Her brother and sister were so into their phones that neither of them cared that their father had not arrived.

“I said, put the phones down, now!”

Again, the two teens ignored their mother.

Reba was young but she was old enough to understand that things were not running smoothly in the Harrison household. Fran saw the questions in her youngest’s eyes, and she saw the wisdom too. She was wise enough to keep her questions to herself. Maybe their family was too far gone, beyond even the inquisitive nature of an eight-year-old child.

Reba slowly picked at the food on her plate. If there was anything that could save the evening it was the fact that her family had plans to join her grandmother at church for a midnight Christmas service. It had been months since they’d all been to church, a once weekly occurrence. It would be great to see Grandma Oma; she always had an encouraging word and right now, Reba needed to hear something good. Something that would make her believe that her family would get better.

James turned the key in the door and stepped inside. Even though they’d purchased the home several years ago, he was still in awe at what his hard work had allowed him to purchase for his family. He had worked hard pulling himself up by his bootstraps, deftly stepping over the other eager mortals struggling next to him as they climbed the same ladder in the pursuit of success. 

Over the years James had been single-minded in his pursuit and it had come at a cost. Today, like so many others, James had returned home late. The family had plans to attend a midnight Christmas service with his mother which if he were to be honest, he was dreading. There were much better ways of spending his time, like wrapping up some unfinished business at the office.

Fran watched her husband enter the room, and quickly take his seat at the head of the table. She was furious. He hadn’t even greeted her or their children, instead he pulled his phone from his pocket and made a call.

“You’re late.”

Shooting an irritated glare at his wife, James held up a finger to silence her interruption.

“You’re late!” She repeated, this time louder.

With a big huff James ends the call and shoves the phone back into his pocket. Reba felt her heart skip and the sleeping butterflies in her stomach take flight.

“Didn’t you see me on the phone?”

“You promised me you’d be home on time for dinner!”

“Fran, please not now! It’s been a helluva day and I’m not in the mood for this!”

“I’m getting sick and tired of you putting your work before this family, James!”

“My work makes all this possible! Look around you, this house, the cars, the money in the bank! My work did that!”

“So, I suppose that makes everything okay, right? This family is suffering, we’re dying on the vine so that you can do what, make more money?”

“I’ll remind you of that the next time you want to fly off to Paris with your girlfriends for the weekend!”

Reba stared at her parents with her mouth open. She wanted it to stop; the arguing between her parents had become an all too familiar scene lately, but this argument was the worst. Even her siblings were paying attention, suddenly finding something more interesting than their cellphones.

For the next few minutes Reba watched her parents, it was like a tennis match, back and forth with no end and no winner. Nothing good would come of this; nothing at all.