It’s THE day for love letters, and I know who I’m sending mine to in 2019.
My husband has gotten his share over the decades. My kids know I love them. This year, my shout-out goes to my six grandchildren.
Isn’t love amazing? Imagine starting out life with a big, red paper heart. As the years go by, you give pieces to your parents, your siblings, your partner in life, your children, their children, your special friends.
You’d think that eventually, that heart would be gone, sliver by sliver, all used up.
But, mysteriously, it doesn’t work that way. The more people who get a piece of your heart, the more heart you have to give.
A grandparent knows this better than anyone. A new little human enters your life, and the love gushes out. If you are blessed enough to have it happen again, a new river of love is at the ready.
Getting to know the little ones is a joy. Sometimes, a hilarious joy.
In the same way I keep a file cabinet in my brain for ALL THE LOVABLE, LAUGHABLE THINGS MY KIDS EVER DID, I have one for the grandkids. One drawer is labeled, “Adventures in baby-sitting.”
Isn’t it amazing when your children, who had a front-row seat for every mistake you made in parenting, trust you to care for and protect their own progeny?
I learned early in the game that a sense of humor is required – on both sides of the equation.
Our first two grandchildren were 4 and 2 when this happened:
While Mom and Dad were at dinner and a movie, Gram and Gramps fed the boys dinner – pizza and milk. The 2-year-old had a habit at the time of face-stuffing whatever food was placed in front of him. Grandma knew this, but had a brain fart, and didn’t monitor the situation.
Before you could say “extra cheese,” little Miles was gagging and Grandma was frantically trying to assess whether the kid version of the Heimlich was called for.
But no, Miles planted himself in the middle of the kitchen floor and upchucked to all quadrants. Who knew a little stomach could have held that much?
Four-year-old Roland came over from the table to advise.
“Now, THAT’S going to make my mom mad,” he said, a serious look on his face.
Cue door. Mom and Dad walked into the kitchen from the garage before I could even reach for a washcloth. You had to laugh, and, thankfully, they did.
A simple game of hide-and-seek led to ruination another time – same kids. I counted, eyes closed, while the boys hid. Miles was found practically under my feet, no problem, but Roland proved more challenging. I searched the house’s two floors, concentrating on all the nooks and crannies, even the unlikely ones – where was that 6-year-old?
Uneasiness took hold. He wouldn’t have gone outside, surely? In the dark? The parents were due home soon. They had left two kids behind; they were going to expect to see two when they got back.
Grandma finally pushed the panic button and started yelling, “Roland, wherever you are, you come out right now! Right! Now!”
It still took a while for the chip-off-the-old-block to emerge from under the guest room bed that I had checked twice. I never did learn whether he was moving from place to place to trip me up. But I DID learn there were better ways to play hide-and-seek with grandkids.
I got another chance this past weekend with a pair in Kansas City – Clark, 6, and Paige, 4. We were at a three-level home (not theirs) for an extended-family gathering, and when the youngsters suggested hide and seek, I wasn’t about to let them hide without me. Been there.
So, I took them by the hand to the basement bathroom, where we sat in the pitch dark. The other adults searched and searched, but none of them imagined the kids would have been willing to hide in the darkest of darks.
They weren’t, actually. Paige squeezed into me on my left side and Clark on the right, their little hands roving constantly to touch and make absolutely sure Grandma was still there, even though they couldn’t see her.
Paige whispered in awe, “Grandma! You have boobs.”
I don’t know if my laugh gave us away, but seconds later, the door opened and we were found.
Eventually, I’m going to figure out ALL the pitfalls of playing hide-and-seek with the next generation.
Those of you with grandchildren already know they are the best soul-heartening prescription for those times when life lays you low: Take two grandkids and call me in a generation.
For those awaiting the experience, it’s more rewarding than you can imagine. You’ll see. And if you don’t expect any grandkids to come into your life, talk to your friends and borrow some from time to time. You won’t regret it.
Valentine’s Day greetings to the four grandchildren I’ve mentioned, and the two I didn’t – Vada, 7, and Margo, 1.
Someday, there might be more. If it happens, I’ve got plenty of heart left to give.
