grandson

August 19, 2016

A Pure Perspective

For the past 16 months, I have studied the world through the eyes of my grandson, Bam Bam. Each Wednesday he and I take on the world, one little step at a time. And the world looks pretty incredible from his pure perspective. A ball is not simply to be bounced. It is to be thrown, and not just to someone, but also over couches and into other rooms. Then, it is to be chased down and thrown all over again. For close to an hour.

Another human being is to be stared at. Smiled at. Waved at and then blown kisses to. Yesterday as Bam Bam and I sat at an outside table at Whole Foods eating an Acai bowl, he struck up a conversation (if signing and one syllable sounds count) with a man across the table from us. Bam Bam saw cars going by so he did the sign for cars and then said, “Vrmmm,” with a smile. The man understood him fully and they ‘discussed’ the cars at great length. When he got up to leave, he said, “Best lunch break I’ve had in a while.” He left with a smile.

Life on a good day can be rough, but if it takes someone with less than 600 days in to show me the good side, I’m going to grab at it with everything I have. Bam Bam has taught me the full wonder of being outdoors. Dirt is an endless source of fascination and sometimes (if I’m not quick enough) for tasting. Birds can never be caught. Front yards vary in design and are always worth exploring. And the sounds of outside are never ending.

When he sits in my lap as I read, I struggle to focus on the words because he smells so heavenly; a mixture of joy tossed with a hint new baby. We find colors on the pages. Boats, people, dogs and everything has a sound. We roll on the floor. Chase cars down the hallway. Eat when we are hungry. Sleep with the sense of a morning well played. And then start everything all over again with the same sense of happiness.

As a grandma, I have the freedom of not worrying about his homework or cleaning the house or worry about prepping for dinner or any other household chore. My biggest Wednesday decision is what park we should play at, is it cool enough to go to the zoo and should we play with the water table now or later? I appreciate this as so much of life is regimented, work filled and often sucked free of fun.

Bam Bam reminds me weekly what life is really about; living it. With impishness as he tosses a cup of water on me and dares me not to laugh with him. With fearlessness as he asks for “Mo!” as the swing spins around and around. With love as he grabs me by both cheeks and plants a sweet baby kiss on my nose. And by being able to find out that you have spent an entire day with your shirt on inside out (because you dressed long before the sun came up) and you discover that you could care less about it.

March 10, 2016

Happy Birthday, Bam Bam!

He started out on a 3’ by 3’ square. Placed gently on his back, he spent hours snoozing with occasional bursts of bleary-eyed wakefulness. (I remember, somewhat ironically now, that we couldn’t wait until he woke up.) Tummy-time entered the fray at about eight weeks. He looked mostly like an alien being trying to lift his too-large head off the mat. On my ‘grandma Wednesdays’ we lay side by side on our backs, reading books, playing with the toys swinging above us and staring into each other’s face. Then, he started to roll.

Once he mastered rolling over and over, the mat grew too small. The mat was removed and a 6’ by 6’ quilt took its place. He rolled, scooted, army crawled and then pulled himself up against anything that appeared stationary; fellow toddlers were fair game if they got close enough to his reaching hands.

What if we had to learn all that a baby did in a mere 12 months?! The process viewed up close, even while wearing spinach-colored spit up and changing an odorific diaper, is mesmerizing. I’m convinced that a baby brain with grown up hands could master the maddening and ever-changing technology on a computer far better than an adult. (Or just this adult.)

As my never-weary grandson, also known as ‘Bam Bam’, nears his first birthday I notice that there are no mats now in his playroom. Instead, the room has been carpeted wall to wall to cover his endless movement. Words and sounds now punctuate his bellows, laughs, and pterodactyl-like grunts. Eh-fant for elephant, A-plane for airplane and ba-ble for bubbles.

I miss him the minute I leave my daughter and son-in-law’s house. I stare at his pictures and watch videos, even after spending a ten-hour day with him. He makes the world feel pure and wonderful. Birds flying overhead are cause for great discussion and endless staring. “Burd,” he says with wonder coloring his sweet voice as it flies overhead. (I do still defensively duck just waiting for that flying thing of wonder to shit on me… I’m not perfect like Bam Bam.)

As his world expands, so does mine. I appreciate every minute I spend with him. I put my phone down on our Wednesdays together. I don’t work. I simply exist to make his day, and thus, my day, fun. Each moment is directed by Bam Bam. We push cars around the room. We have dance parties. We read. We eat and eat and eat. Me, who is never late for anything, misses every class we try to take on Wednesdays. We are so busy playing and not following a clock, that I cannot seem to make it to his 50 minute My Gym class. I’m pretty sure he doesn’t mind.

At the end of our day, he has sand in his neck creases, dirt beneath his fingernails, and bits of his meals stuck to the tufts of his hair. He smells like happiness and rainbows, and I can’t inhale enough of this boy.

Happy First Birthday, Bam Bam!

April 23, 2015

And Baby Makes Three…

Last June, my daughter, Princess jogged down our stairs waving a white stick.  She skidded to a stop in front of my son-in-law and held the stick inches from his eyes.  “I’m pregnant,” she proclaimed. No fancy presentation for her, just the evidence and a grin that danced across her face.

His eyes rounded, his mouth gaped open, and then he gathered her close. The look they gave each other, that secret forever-in-love look, had me reaching for my husband’s hand.

When we stopped firing questions at her, she said, “I couldn’t wait until the morning.”  Something the box stated was a better time to test.

My husband instantly ran to the local pharmacy where he bought two more elaborate tests, ‘just to be sure’ and we ended up with three different white sticks all proclaiming ‘pregnant’ in varying ways.

They had planned to have a baby so that wasn’t the surprise.  The shock was the idea of my baby girl (who at 29 years old at the time is anything but…) having her own child. Her own family of three.

The milestones, when they come, always bring a jolt.  Riding a bike without training wheels, braces, a driver’s permit, high school graduation, going off to college.  Each time I became comfortable with the new normal in our lives, it would change.  I held on tightly, savoring every stage, but no matter how far I dug my heels into time, it moved forward.

I watched Princess’ belly grow as her fast, smooth stride slid into a slow, easy waddle.  Her hands often rested pressed against her back or lay on top of her stomach.  The pregnancy clothes that initially ballooned over her belly grew snug and strangers began to practice one form or another of absolute kindness around her. They held doors, moved her to the front of grocery store lines, and smiled at her often. She declared that the world would be a better place if everyone treated everyone as if they were pregnant. Not a bad thought…I wish the action would follow.

There was a weekend false alarm that had my husband and I driving her to the hospital.  (Her husband was at work.)  They hooked her up to monitors and we watched the false contractions wave across the screen. Her husband rushed in not long after and we saw the moment they realized that, false alarm or not, this baby was coming soon.

The call came two weeks later, just as we were getting ready for bed. Of course.  “This is it,” my son-in-law stated.

“We’ll meet you there,” my husband said and then ran like a mad scientist around the house getting himself ready to leave. We called our son and all of us arrived within minutes of each other.

We were led to hold-your-breath sized waiting room and told we could go see our daughter after they finished getting her set up.  I almost backed out of the room when I saw a well-coifed, well-dressed woman knitting calmly in a chair.  Next to her sat her equally snappily dressed husband reading a paper.  I assessed the clothes that I had thrown on…tennis shoes, ratty jeans, a tee-shirt and pony-tail that could not even begin to contain my just washed, wildly curly hair. No one had shared that we were supposed to dress up for meeting one’s grandchild, even in the middle of the night.

The woman looked over and said, “First grandchild?”

My unpreparedness must have been screaming out of my pores.  “Uh, yup.”

“I hope you brought a book or something,” she said, “these things can take a while.”

As a matter of fact, I had not.  I had brought food for my son (as I always do and always will) and some water, but I was lucky I had clothes on, let alone a bag full of activities.  Grandparenthood test number one – Fail!

The baby arrived 3 1/2 hours after my son-in-law’s phone call.  I admired his 10 fingers and toes, while my son stared in awe at his new nephew, and my husband looked on the verge of laughing and crying as he photographed everyone and everything in the room. Princess held the baby as my son-in-law stared blissfully down at my daughter and his new son.

I may not be the traditional, well organized, crafting grandma, but I plan to embrace my grandma-hood with everything I do have.  Reading.  Cuddling.  Singing (sorry about the croaking, kid.) Playing.  Baking. Homework help.  Sign me up for everything, except science – your parents will take care of that. Life has changed again in our family and I’m eager to experience this new, uncharted reality.

Welcome to the family, Asher!