It's quiet. Dear Hubby and Chloe dog are snoozing in the recliner and I'm listening to my "Chant" CD on my headphones. I am bummed out. Why, you ask? I don't like the lack of time I have. Sometimes I feel stretched so thin. But isn't that the result of the times we live in? I think most working mothers feel the way I feel. I'm 54 - almost 55 - years old, tho. Most women my age aren't taking care of two young children an average of 11 hours per day. Before I became a stay-at-home-Grandma I worked at a "real" job part time. I pretty much came and went as I pleased, as long as I was in the office to take care of the phone messages and callbacks in the morning. Some days I worked 5 or 6 hours. Some days 2 or 3. Some days, in the slower season, not at all. I had time to read. I had time to garden. I had time to 'play' on the computer. I had time, if I wanted to, to sit on one of the rockers on the back porch and daydream. Or snooze.
But...what is time? How important is it to me to play or read or garden? Some times I'll dream of having a day completely to myself. Then I get one and I hardly know what to do with myself. I'm so used to being busy, so used to taking care of the needs of my little grandsons, I don't really know how to sit down and focus on...nothing. When we found out my daughter-in-law was pregnant with Dylan and our son approached me and asked if I'd be willing to do his day care if they paid me what I made at my part time job, the agreement we came to was I'd do it until he -- and/or any others that came after him -- entered school. So, originally, I was looking at 5 years to begin with. Now, with Cooper, it'll be 7 years. It seems like a lot. And yet, in the scope of my life time, it's a drop in the bucket. A blip on the radar screen. A little bit of time stored in a bottle. And at the end of these 11 hour days, when I've seen the boys off home with their mom or dad, I often stop and reflect on these hours, these days, devoted to my grandsons. The impact I have on their lives, and their lives have on mine. Not only have I been fortunate enough to be home for most of my own chidren's childhoods. I am here with my grandsons. And is there any 'job' out there that even begins to compare to the one I have now, helping to prepare them for the world? Opening their eyes to all that's around them? To nurture and love them?
On Friday the boys and I set out around 7:45 am for an emergency trip to Save A Lot to buy diapers for Dylan. I knew we were taking a chance, trying to get there and back between rain showers, and we made it almost all the way home before the skies opened up and it began to pour. As we hurried past a house a couple of blocks from ours, a young mom and her son were out front playing 'baseball' with a big plastic bat and ball, braving the rain. We've spoken to each other several times as I've walked by with the boys, the dog, or all three. That day, tho, she asked me, "Are you their nanny?" My first thought was, "In OUR neighborhood?!" but I told her no, I'm their Grandma. "And you take care of them all the time?" she asked. I told her yes, I do. "Wow!" she exclaimed. "Are they ever lucky to have you! That is so great that you're willing to do that for them!"
But I'm so lucky to have them .
It goes both ways.