This weekend was a whirlwind. Chad was out of town for a golf trip, so I was a single mom from Thursday until Sunday. Except for Saturday, I went to Asheville to celebrate a good friend at her bachelorette weekend. So, since Chad was out of town, it meant I had to "dump" my kids off on someone else. Or, at least that's what it always feels like...
It feels that way to me, only because I am strong willed, hard headed, stubborn, independent, and the list goes on. I have the whole mindset that I had these kids, they are my responsibility, and I have to put myself on the back burner sometimes, in order to care for them. Sounds stupid, right?
Last week, I made arrangements for the boys, while I would be gone. They would stay with Chad's parents during the day on Saturday, and my mom (because my dad, was gone with Chad) on Saturday night. I went to Asheville. Worried about everyone, except myself, the whole time. Because I had just "dumped" my kids on the grandparents, while I selfishly was out of town, having a good time. Surely someone else out there, feels this way? No?
Yesterday, I rushed back to get the kids from my mom. Wyatt is still--stiiillllll not sleeping through the night, I knew she was probably tired, so I wanted to hurry back to relieve her, of MY kids. Later yesterday afternoon, I got a text from my mom, saying she missed the kids already, and that I needed to go out of town more often, and then one other thing, that has stuck...
"We need to make memories with them, so one day they can tell stories, like y'all do..."
It's true. I have so many fun memories of times at my grandparents, or funny stories that keep on telling. I can remember smells, outfits, weather, etc...of different memories at each set of grandparents houses, or special occasions with them. I have/had the best grandparents in the world. Don't even try and argue with that one. I can still talk to them today, and some things put me back to a child, and I see them in that same glorious light, as I did back then. I'm laughing right now at one particular story that includes my dad's mom, and a beach trip breakfast stop at Hardees. If you are familiar with the story, you are laughing right now too. There really isn't a family get together, where that story doesn't somehow get told--through the tears of laughter. A belly laugh. I can remember a time that my grandparents on my mom's side, had a ceiling leak close to Christmas, and just plaster patched it up. And, my grandpa telling us that Santa had fell through the roof. I believed him. I'm sure I believed him up until I was in high school. And still, when I see that place, I remember that story. I can still remember nobody was allowed to sit in my papa O'neal's chair. If you were sitting in it, when he came in the house, he would pace the floors, until you got up. He had an empty vegetable can sitting by that chair--it was his tobacco spit cup. I still laugh at stories of my grandmother smoking rabbit tobacco (although it is still up in the air, if she actually did or not). My grandparents always made me feel like they had been waiting to see me all day, when I would go and visit--truth be told, they still do. I could write a whole post, just on childhood memories, that involved my grandparents. Great, wonderful, funny, sweet, sad, memories. All that if I close my eyes, I can still see, smell, and hear them happening. Chad has memories too. We both were lucky growing up! I want that for my boys. They were blessed. And I mean blessed, with wonderful grandparents--just like I was. I want to be old and gray (not anytime soon) and sitting around a dinner table and listening to them belly laugh and tell stories of their grandparents.
There is something special about grandparents, that I didn't fully realize, until I had kids of my own. And I watched my parents and Chad's parents look at my boys like they are the most perfect things on earth (they aren't--close but, no). That my boys, no matter what they do, it's always ok, and most of the time, funny---but if it were me, growing up and acting and doing some of the things they get away with, then I would have been spanked a thousand times over. Grandparents are a special breed. They are our story tellers, our secret keepers, they never judge, and in their presence you always find unconditional love and kindness. They are quick to forgive and quick to overlook offenses.
If your children (or you), are still blessed enough to have grandparents, I encourage you to do the same. We are not promised tomorrow, but the memories will last forever. Here lately, when I hug my grandparents, I find myself holding on a little longer than I used to, and I have a certain fear there, like what if this is the last time. When conversations lead themselves to talk about a will, or a funeral wish, I pretend I don't hear. And sometimes as I walk home, after a visit next door with them, I cry, at this silly lesson in growing up. I realize that the loss of one grandparent still hasn't eased off after 11 years, and that those things you vaguely believe in when you are young--heaven, happiness, old age- they all start to become harsh and bitter realities.
So, thanks mom! Not only for making me blog and write for the first time in 2 years...but for giving me that little reminder.
