I always thought I would be the sweet, cuddly type of grandmother that was adored by her grandchildren. After all I loved to cook (especially cookies), raised two kids that became delightful adults, and had a bunch of fun doing it. I had visions of happy children, enjoying quiet games in a house that smelled of homemade goodies, while hubby and I enjoyed the peaceful scene.
Reality isn't quite the same.
Last week I gleefully made homemade chocolate chip cookies knowing that the boys would be out after school. They were fresh out of the oven and cooling on the counter when the kitchen erupted with coats, boots, gloves and boys. The littlest one immediately announced that he didn't like that kind of cookies. "You haven't even tried them!" I exclaimed. The middle one started rooting in the pantry looking for a box of Little Debbies. "They're fresh out of the oven! Still warm! Try one!" I begged. Looking put upon, they dutifully munched a cookie. "See, I told you I didn't like them." The little one announced, digging into the store bought cookies.
About that time the teen-aged grandson wandered in and finished off the homemade cookies. Teenagers can be so rewarding--especially when it comes to cleaning up food.
Life just doesn't seem to turn out quite like you dream.
In fact, having three boys and a little girl descend on our house is more an exercise in chaos than tranquility. I spend most of my time grabbing flying toys, rescuing the dog, settling squabbles, and handing out food. Instead of soft mummers of love I'm more likely to be shouting commands like a drill sergeant.
The other day, I had just cleaned up after lunch and the kids were all off playing. The little girl, who is two, was having a tea party in the sunroom, the teenager was deep into a video game, the middle boy was playing a game on my iPhone and the youngest was playing with a small car in the kitchen. Suddenly there was the sound of a crash in the kitchen. I rounded the corner to find him standing, barefoot, in a sea of broken glass from the coffee carafe he had managed to knock to the floor. "DON'T MOVE!" I screamed. For once in his life he actually obeyed a command, probably more from shock than actual obedience. Leaping across the floor, I yelled for the seven year old to grab the baby and keep her in the den and out of the kitchen. I grabbed up the little boy and threw him onto the bed in the bedroom and told him not to move.
I frantically swept up the glass praying none of the others would run into the kitchen and step on a stray splinter of glass. After sweeping the floor three times I finally decided it was safe and returned to the bedroom to check on the little boy. I was confronted by a tear streaked, hic-upping bundle of misery. In all the confusion and shouting he had decided his days were numbered. "I-I-mm s-sorry." he sobbed.
I wrapped my arms around him and assured him that I wasn't going to strangle him--this time anyway.
Sometimes a hug is better than a lecture.
Tuesday, February 25, 2014
Tuesday, February 11, 2014
Robert
I was lucky enough to grow up in a very close-knit family. My father and his brother were only 11 months apart in age and had been raised, virtually, as twins. They were incredibly close. When I was young they lived on the same street in town and were in business together. Naturally, we were in and out of our Uncle's house about as much as we were ours. They had two boys and a girl, daddy had two girls. Our ages stair stepped down with a year or two between. I fell between the two boys.
I grew up following the older brother everywhere I could and plotting mischief with the younger brother, Robert. He was the baby of the clan. A sweet, chubby child who, as my aunt proclaimed, was her one experiment with the rhythm method of birth control. (It took me about 20 years to figure out what that meant!)
Robert took after his father's father, in that he grew and grew. Pawpaw was 6'6" in an age when a tall man was 6'. Robert passed him up and achieved 6'9" in his prime. Unfortunately, a mild case of polio as a child left him unable to comfortably support his large size. While he could walk very well, any type of extreme exercise left him in pain. The basketball coach almost wept.
He could have been a brat. Bigger than all his school mates, teased and ridiculed as only kids can, he nevertheless remained a sweet tempered, gentle natured child. Over the years he developed a penetrating intellect and a wicked sense of humor. He loved people and people loved him back. That didn't keep him from poking fun and taking more than a few down from their high horse.
Robert loved trying new things and following new ideas. This took him down some strange roads but also produced some beautiful things. He became interested in art and painted some exquisite figurines, paintings, and other objects. A pair of lovely, Thai dancers are the pride of my dining room right now. He sang beautifully and played several instruments. Always a good cook and a gourmand, he decided to become a chef. He attended school and educated us all on the finer points of eating well. His inquiring mind took him down the path of alternative medicines. He became a well-known expert on herbal medicines. He was always willing to think outside of the box and explore new possibilities.
His adulthood took him far from home but he never forgot about his home town. He delighted in coming "home" and seeing what everyone was doing. A considerate, caring man he donated countless hours to the less fortunate--something he never spoke about. However, almost any other subject was fair game. His quick wit and penetrating intellect kept us all on our toes.
I always thought of myself as a pretty sharp conversationalist. Robert, however, could reduce me to
giggles and stutters. I can see him now, leaning down and peering into my eyes, while his danced and twinkled. "Now, Jo. Are you sure you want to stand by your statement?" he would ask about whatever we were deep in discussion about. "Yes, indeed." I would proclaim, sure that this time I was right. He would then puncture my argument with a well placed barb that would leave us laughing and me deflated!
Robert, the world is a better place for your being in it. You did "your own thing" regardless of what others thought, but you were always true to yourself. We'll miss you.
I grew up following the older brother everywhere I could and plotting mischief with the younger brother, Robert. He was the baby of the clan. A sweet, chubby child who, as my aunt proclaimed, was her one experiment with the rhythm method of birth control. (It took me about 20 years to figure out what that meant!)
Robert took after his father's father, in that he grew and grew. Pawpaw was 6'6" in an age when a tall man was 6'. Robert passed him up and achieved 6'9" in his prime. Unfortunately, a mild case of polio as a child left him unable to comfortably support his large size. While he could walk very well, any type of extreme exercise left him in pain. The basketball coach almost wept.
He could have been a brat. Bigger than all his school mates, teased and ridiculed as only kids can, he nevertheless remained a sweet tempered, gentle natured child. Over the years he developed a penetrating intellect and a wicked sense of humor. He loved people and people loved him back. That didn't keep him from poking fun and taking more than a few down from their high horse.
Robert loved trying new things and following new ideas. This took him down some strange roads but also produced some beautiful things. He became interested in art and painted some exquisite figurines, paintings, and other objects. A pair of lovely, Thai dancers are the pride of my dining room right now. He sang beautifully and played several instruments. Always a good cook and a gourmand, he decided to become a chef. He attended school and educated us all on the finer points of eating well. His inquiring mind took him down the path of alternative medicines. He became a well-known expert on herbal medicines. He was always willing to think outside of the box and explore new possibilities.
His adulthood took him far from home but he never forgot about his home town. He delighted in coming "home" and seeing what everyone was doing. A considerate, caring man he donated countless hours to the less fortunate--something he never spoke about. However, almost any other subject was fair game. His quick wit and penetrating intellect kept us all on our toes.
I always thought of myself as a pretty sharp conversationalist. Robert, however, could reduce me to
giggles and stutters. I can see him now, leaning down and peering into my eyes, while his danced and twinkled. "Now, Jo. Are you sure you want to stand by your statement?" he would ask about whatever we were deep in discussion about. "Yes, indeed." I would proclaim, sure that this time I was right. He would then puncture my argument with a well placed barb that would leave us laughing and me deflated!
Robert, the world is a better place for your being in it. You did "your own thing" regardless of what others thought, but you were always true to yourself. We'll miss you.
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