“First we get tucked in, then you tell me a story*, and then you sing ‘You Are My Sunshine,’ and then I can go to sleep, Anjuwa Gwama!”
I had the opportunity to whisk away my three(and-a-half)-year-old grand-daughter for a sleepover recently so that her parents could try to have a little downtime in between taking care of my fourth grandchild (and her mama just had surgery). We played and painted and ate food and watched a movie, and then she declared she was ready for bed. She doesn’t normally go to sleep very early so I was skeptical. But once she laid down the schedule of events for going to sleep, and once I followed them, and after much bouncing around but her still wanting to stay in bed, she fell asleep.
But not before she made me cry a little when she started singing the sunshine song back to me.
Just over six years ago, I became a grandma for the first time to an amazing little man. When I opened my favorite search engine to begin looking for cool names for a grandmother, I had ideas of something fun and quirky. I had discussions with other grandmothers on how they chose their names and with my son about what he thought his son would call me. All that work was for nothing, though, because when it came right down to it, the name didn’t matter. What mattered most was just seeing that first – and then second, and then third, and then fourth! – little face look at me with complete adoration.
Call me whatever you want, kiddo. I’m yours.
Like being a mother, I didn’t have a healthy model of what a grandmother looks like. Suddenly, a new world was opening up to me and I had no idea what that looked like. Give advice? Hush up? Show up and take the child? Help clean house? Quit my job and take care of the children? Spoil them with everything?
I didn’t have a clue. I still don’t.
Grandchildren are not your children. I know, I know…obviously. There are pros and cons to this, but at the end of the day, there is usually an end of the day. I found myself in the earliest months unsure of what you do with a baby. Do you just stare at them, watching them breathe? Is that still a thing? Do you keep talking and reading and carrying and feeding?
Again, obviously yes, but you’re not the one who so explicitly knows what the baby likes and hates. You’re not the one who knows all the variations of a cry, not like moms and dads. And oh my gosh, please don’t get hurt on my watch (or ever, right, but on my watch, I’ll have some ‘splainin’ to do!).
One thing I’ve had to get used to it is that ache that happens with not being with them all the time coupled with the freedom of the 24/7 care-taking part — quite the juxtaposition of emotions! Six years later, I still battle this. Even when I’m utterly exhausted after they have left, I will find myself scrolling through the pictures I took of them, watching and rewatching the videos I captured.
Everything they do is magical!
Being grandma makes me a much better memory-keeper. I’m not knee-deep in the everyday that is parenting, so I get to listen differently, watch differently, capture differently than I did as a parent. And while it still seems to go by so unfairly fast, I feel like I get to be in time more than trying to chase it.
The other night, as I sang the sunshine song over and over to my second-born grandchild, I couldn’t help but remember singing it to my children. Next month, my oldest will turn 30 (because that dadgum time thing!), and it is absolutely unbelievable that 30 years ago, my body carried that first child, the start of the next generation that has grown to 10 (3 I birthed, 3 bonus – their partners – and 4 grands). Listening to my grand-daughter (my firstborn’s firstborn) sing the sunshine song to me made me flash through all these years. With tears in my eyes, I smiled about the gifts I have been given, a life of love that started out for me very differently.
This is why I love my everyday life, why I can find the sunshine even in the darkest of days. This is why I do what I do. THEY are why I do what I do…
*The Story
(as I remember it, in case I have to tell it again, which has happened before. My grandson once asked me to make up a story, and then asked me to repeat the story, in which I immediately got this brand new story wrong, and he called me on it!)
Once upon a time, there lived a smart and beautiful princess named Aria. Now, Aria loved flowers and she wanted to plant them everywhere! But she didn’t know how, so she asked her mommy. Her mommy taught her how to plant and tend to the flowers, and Aria’s kingdom became very beautiful. It was so beautiful, the neighboring kingdoms wanted to plant flowers, too. So Aria taught Princess Marcelina and Princess Adalyn and Prince Ethan (this part varies, as with her that night, I also listed her other cousins on her mama’s side of the family) how to plant and grow flowers. And then their kingdoms were also beautiful, and everyone in all the kingdoms loved all the colorful flowers, and they all lived happily ever after.
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