Grandkids Are So Much Fun I Should Have Had Them First

Our oldest grandson revelled in helping gramps anytime he could. When the new backyard sidewalk needed to be built, it was Donny to the rescue. Notice he even has his own toolbelt. He worked alongside Jim for hours and finally got the hang of measuring and laying the stone. When Jim announced that he'd like to take a rest, Donny just kept going. Young as he was, he came through with a perfect job. Today, Donny is 25, a mechanical engineer, and that sidewalk is still perfect. Honest.

My husband Jim and I thoroughly enjoyed raising our two children. I was a stay at home mom and for me, it was perfect. Then one day I blinked and they were grown, married, and had children of their own. Oh my gosh, I was a 40 year-old grandma who didn't feel grandmotherly. Little did I know that the fun was just beginning. You know what made the difference? I wasn't responsible for how they turned out. I didn't care if they ate their vegetables. No big deal if they got to bed a little late. What would it hurt if they ate dessert first? Would the stars fall from the sky if they went to bed without a bath?

Grandkids are relaxing, soothing, and just plain fun. Because all their parents worked full time, who taught the girls to knit, sew, and make biscuits? Me. Who taught our oldest grandson to build a birdhouse? Jim. When our oldest granddaughter was five, she and I went off to Zoo School at the San Diego Zoo. When our oldest grandson was eight, we took the Amtrack to Oceanside, just because he wanted to ride on a train. Another granddaughter's first plane trip was a short hop we took to a fancy Arizona waterpark and its adjoining hotel. Another granddaughter's first glimpse of the Grand Canyon came while she trailered the Southwest with us.

It seemed that while we raised our own kids, money was so tight that we were thankful just to have an old tent to camp in and in order to vacation at all, Jim sold his holidays at work so we'd have the funds. But once our kids were out on their own, we discovered something wonderful. We now had the money to take off and travel. And even better, the grandkids could come with us.

Even though they enjoyed seeing new places, each one still loved coming to our home and just hanging out.  When our backyard needed a new brick sidewalk, who wanted to help lay it? The oldest grandson. When he wanted to learn to play golf, who taught him? Jim. Years of intertwined love and togetherness have reaped their own rewards. We are rich in that our own children love and respect us; richer still because all seven grandkids do the same. And all it took was time. A little here, a little there. A nail to pound; a brick to lay; a stitch to sew; a biscuit to drool over.

The backyard as it is today. I do wish I'd moved the hose before snapping the shutter, but you can still see how well the sidewalk has held up over all these years.

Today, the grandkids ages range from 29 to 13. They are all still fun. Still relaxing. Still soothing to be around. And you know what? I still don't care if they clean their plates--although it would be nice if the minute they entered my home their cell phones somehow managed to bite the dust.


Copyright 2011 by Sandra L. Keith, All Rights Reserved
Photos are the property of the author and may not be reproduced without permission

Weed Flower Memories



While this canvas I finally finished needlepointing isn't a replication of the flowers my son brought me so many years ago, it is as close as I could come to putting my weed flower memory into a picture. 

 Mother's Day is upon us. Funny, isn't it, how certain times of the year flood our conscious with memories of the past. So it has been with me. As I reclined in my rocker last evening, I thought of other Mother's Days when the kids were young and happily bounded out of bed that particular Sunday  morning to hand me their highly decorated construction paper cards fashioned in school. There was always a gift to go with them--and while my husband had chosen and paid for it, the children always grinned and danced about as though it had cost them every last coin in their piggy banks.

The gifts were never huge or splendid. Usually they consisted of a new housecoat or a sweater or a tool I had requested for the kitchen or all the sewing projects I had going. Each year I suggested Jim just buy me flowers. I loved getting flowers and I cared not what kind they were. Every year Jim said the same exact thing: flowers are a waste of money; they die and then you have nothing. How little did I realize that the kids were collecting information about me. To my surprise, I would find out the year my son turned six.

It was a lovely spring that year. Plenty of rain had fed the hills and valleys, bringing the wildflowers out of their seculsion and painting the land with their lovely yellows, blues, whites, and pinks. My son had been out playing with his two best friends from school and as I looked at the clock, I realized they'd been gone entirely too long. Calling his name at the top of my lungs hadn't brought him home. I was irritated more than scared--but only because we live in such a safe part of the city. I started supper, chopping, dicing, and mincing the vegetables and herbs that would go in the stew pot. I kept glancing at the clock, my irritation growing.

By the time he was 30 minutes late, I had a loud reprimand on the edge of my tongue, along with a plan to restrict him from playing with anymore friends till he turned thirty. Well, maybe only twenty-one. When he finally appeared, his blonde hair touseled, his clothes filthy, a mysterious grin on his young face and both hands held behind his back, my imagination ramped up. How grateful I am to this day that he spoke before I could open my mouth.

Excitedly, he thrust his hands toward me. Clutched in them was the saddest, most beautiful collection of weed flowers I'd ever seen. "I picked these for you, mommy," he grinned. "I love you." I held back tears, knowing he wouldn't understand.

"Oh, thank you, honey. They're beautiful," I said. He squirmed  about with such pleasure it was hard not to smile. "I went all the way down into the canyon to get them for you because I know how much you like flowers and daddy always forgets to buy you any."

The canyon! He wasn't allowed in the canyon. And he knew it. Not only is it two blocks from our home, but it runs nearly the whole width of the mesa we live on. It is filled with all manner of cacti and thistles and prickly things that stick to your clothes and sometimes penetrate your skin. Add to that the many wild critters who reside there--most of whom are not friendly--and it becomes the forbidden land. Not a good place for six year olds. Or adults either.

I held my tongue. We'd talk about the canyon later. For now I whispered a secret prayer to God. "Oh Lord, teach me to be quick to listen and slow to speak, lest in my own foolishness I somehow ruin a precious weed flower moment with those I love more than life itself."

"Behold, children are a heritage from the Lord."  Psalms 127:3

Copyright 2011 by Sandra L. Keith. All rights reserved.

Photo by Sandra L. Keith. Do not reproduce without permission of the author.