The Countdown

I slept in this morning. It was the first day that I have had all to myself since school let out. But such luxuries will not last long. NEXT week, I will be busy being a "bag lady" at my church's VBS. In addition, I will have three-year-old RJ at my side. The boy never stops. His mommy and daddy are getting some well-deserved time alone, and his other grandma is taking his baby brother.

I am looking forward to this, although I am sure that there are a few things about caring for a three-year-old that have slipped my mind. For example, I took RJ to a movie while he was wearing flip-flops, having forgotten that part of the fun of flip-flops is kicking them OFF.

After spending our mornings at Bible School, RJ and I will attempt to find Grandpa for lunch. That may or may not happen, as Grandpa's territory is 130 miles long. If we can't find Grandpa, I have a bunch of friends who are not yet grandparents that want to check RJ out, so we will have lunch elsewhere. Then, for after lunch, there is always the park. And RJ's helping me with dinner. Not to mention another movie adventure with CARS. There won't be time for anything as mundane as housekeeping. Which is why I need to get ahead this week.

A lot of people who aren't grandparents have asked me to explain why grandparenting is so special. I think maybe part of the reason is that the time for parenting goes by so quickly when you are in the middle of it, and you want your kids to be able to talk, to tie their shoes, to play outside by themselves. But when you are a grandparent, you realize that the time to enjoy a child's discovery of the world is all too short, and you had better pay attention while you can. You get glimpses of this while you are a mom. It's just that life sometimes gets in the way.

So next week, I will not worry about mowing the lawn. And while I will keep the walkways clear, a few toys on the floor never hurt anyone. Next week, I will pay attention to my grandson. It is for that reason that I have always liked this poem:


Mother, oh Mother, come shake out your cloth, empty the dustpan, poison the moth,hang out the washing and butter the bread, sew on a button and make up the bed.

Where is the mother whose house is so shocking? She's up in the nursery, blissfully rocking.

Oh, I've grown as shiftless as Little Boy Blue, (lullaby, lullaby, lullaby loo). Dishes are waiting and bills are past due. (Pat-a-cake darling, and peek, peek-a-boo).

The shopping's not done and there's nothing for stew. And out in the yard there's a hullaballoo, but I'm playing Kanga and this is my Roo. Look! Aren't her eyes the most wonderful blue? (Lullaby, lullaby, lullaby, loo.)

The cleaning and scrubbing will wait for tomorrow, for children grow up, as I've learned to my sorrow. So quiet down cobwebs, and dust go to sleep. I'm rocking my baby, and babies don't keep.

–by Ruth Hulburt Hamilton

RJ's being three won't last forever,either. And I intend to enjoy every minute that I can.



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