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Bye-Bye Bassinet

Bye-Bye Bassinet

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The bassinet reminded me of the ones my little brother and sister slept in when they came home from the hospital. Though it’s now called “vintage,” it was merely “used” when we bought it for our first baby. I sewed a new liner in a soft lavender flannel. 

A couple days ago, when the grand-babies were in the house, the bassinet was brought down from the attic, just in case it could be pressed into service. Unfortunately … it already had been pressed into service. Squirrels or mice had made it their home. The stuffed animals that were inside the bassinet (some harkening back to my own childhood or earlier) were eviscerated. 

It was sad. I was sad. … But I was also determined that the bassinet make yesterday’s trash pickup. So I took a few photos, and the bassinet was hoisted out to the curb, actually fitting into the trash dumpster. 

Three sweet little girls took their first sleeps in that well-used nest. And who knows how many others. And now, it’s in the landfill. But the girls, they have grown up into lovely young women. And that, of course, was the point of it all. 

(Photo: Courtesy, Etsy. My bassinet photos didn’t turn out so well.)

First Smile

First Smile

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I remember being thrilled at our baby’s first smiles when I was a young mother, but there’s something about seeing them as a grandmother that makes them even more miraculous.

Here is this tiny creature, seemingly from another world, movements as if underwater. Here are the eyes that look past you at first. Here is all the care their parents provide: the feeding and burping and changing and calming. The nonstop love right from the start.

And then … here is the babe giving back. Yesterday, my new granddaughter smiled not once, not twice, but three times. Looked me right in the eye, turned up her sweet little mouth and smiled.

To me it’s proof of love at work, a visible sign of the love that passes from parent to child and then ripples out from that child into the world she builds for herself, extends all the way to the child she bears … who starts the beautiful cycle all over again.

Birth Stories

Birth Stories

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Ever since becoming a grandmother I’ve meant to find the journals where I described the births of each of my daughters. I was put off by the digging it would take me to find them.

But yesterday I had a few moments, so I looked in the most logical first place — a drawer in a dressing table where I keep some of my old (now well-filled) blank books. And there, right on top, was the journal describing Celia’s arrival — what I’d done that day (Christmas shop) and how it felt (scary!) to look up at the hospital sign from a distance, counting contractions while sitting in a rush-hour traffic jam.

Beneath that journal was the one with the pages for Claire’s arrival. The heat of those summer days came alive again for me, as did the rosebud mouth and cute little nose of my second-born. 

And finally, there was the journal that described Suzanne’s birth. I labored longer with my first, of course, and the nurses were marvelous, especially one whose name had escaped me — until yesterday. 

It’s not as if I’d forgotten the moments when each of these precious babes was put into my arms, and many of the details were there, too. But to relive the excitement in my own voice brought me back to those days in a way no photograph could — and made me glad that even in that early, new mother exhaustion, I chose writing over napping, that I picked up my pen, grabbed my blank books and wrote the birth stories.

Cousin Meeting

Cousin Meeting

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Over the weekend, there was a gathering of the clan. And the cousins — who had attended showers and weddings and family dinners together (though with one or both in utero) — finally met in person.  I wouldn’t exactly say that they interacted, but they were held up close to each other, and it felt momentous to me and to their parents.

There’s something about taking on the grandparent role. It’s a stepping into the wings and off the main stage, a move made with gratitude for the most part but not without a backward glance. 

Not that I won’t be a big part of these little people’s lives. But I won’t be raising them, and up till recently, the parenting role is the one I’ve had. 

As we left the house there was one baby fussing and the other being strapped in his car seat for the ride home. Our car felt empty and quiet — but peaceful, too. 

(Photo from another gathering of cousins, this one long ago.)

Autumn Bond

Autumn Bond

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Autumn is rolling out quite the red (and gold) carpet for our fall “babies” (our new granddaughter’s mother’s birthday is today). 

Decades ago, when I was expecting Suzanne, I hoped she would be born in time enough to enjoy the glories of autumn. We lived in northern Massachusetts then, though, and the trees were almost bare when she arrived. 

As it turns out, though, Suzanne’s birthday is perfectly aligned for autumn color in the mid-Atlantic — and so is her baby’s. 

Now when I marvel at the bright colors, inhale the scent of crushed leaves, I think about how she and her baby will always have this bond. This time of simultaneous change and equilibrium will always be theirs to share. 

Baby Girl!

Baby Girl!

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Our second grandchild arrived in the wee hours of the morning: a little girl this time! Like her cousin, she was born slightly before the due date, an awesome accomplishment that has me wondering … will both these children be punctual beings, or more than punctual, will they always arrive early? An amazing thought!

Childbirth in the age of Covid means we are scattered about the region and the country, sharing the news with middle-of-the-night texts, sending hearts and flowers and congratulations notes, waking and cheering and giving thanks and falling back to sleep (or trying to) with images of infants in our heads. 

Suzanne was a sweet big sister right from the start, as she demonstrates here, in one of the first photos I have of her holding Claire. 

Now she’s holding a baby of her own, long awaited, cherished and treasured by many. I hope mom, dad and baby feel the love we’re sending their way. I bet they do!

The Summer Book

The Summer Book

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I picked up Tove Jansson’s The Summer Book because it showed up in a list of books that feature grandparents. There are precious few of these, I’ve noticed. 

Jansson’s Grandmother (she’s given no other name) is crotchety and wise and foolish and loving. She smokes cigarettes and breaks into a neighbor’s house. No cookie-baking for this grandma. She’s a renegade. But she also understands her granddaughter Sophia, pushes her and puts her in situations where she is bound to succeed. 

Grandmother also levels with herself and with others (when she’s not lying, that is). Here she is after the break-in: 

“My dear child,” said Grandmother impatiently [to Sophia], “every human being has to make his own mistakes.” … Sometimes people never saw things clearly until it was too late and they no longer had the strength to start again. Or else they forgot their idea along the way and didn’t even realize that they had forgotten.”

That’s the kind of gem Jansson strews about for us through the pages of this slim and lovely book, all of it amidst a natural world (an island in the Gulf of Finland) that is as beautiful as it is dangerous. 

Magic Beans

Magic Beans

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Yesterday, at the end of a busy workday, there was a wee little knock at the door. I didn’t hear it at first due to Copper’s loud response. And since he barks often when given the front yard to survey, I assumed it was more of the same. Turns out it was one of our new neighbors, age 8, doing some door-to-door sales. 

“Would you like to buy some magic beans?” she said, holding out a handful of small acorns for me to see. “Only a dollar for four.”

“Ah, only a dollar for four,” I said, stalling for time. 

With the poise of a true saleswoman, she rushed in when I hesitated. “Or, I can make it five for a dollar,” she quickly added.

“Hmmmm,” I said. “Well, I think I will buy only four this time. Let me go get you the dollar.”

She was ecstatic when I returned, as was her sidekick, one of the three precious boys who lives across the street and who was apparently going to share in the proceeds of this incredibly savvy scheme of selling something that is piling up all around us. 

With everyone working at home these days, this budding entrepreneur will have plenty of customers. I can’t wait to see what she’ll offer next: maybe a special on autumn leaves. 

Grandparents’ Day

Grandparents’ Day

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It’s the first Sunday after Labor Day, which means …  it’s Grandparents’ Day! This is the first time I’ve ever paid much attention to this day, though I think I occasionally sent my parents my kids’ hand-scrawled notes around this time of year. Now, I’m the grandparent. I’m still wondering how that happened! 

But, since it did, I decided to look into the derivation of the holiday. Turns out, Grandparents’ Day is not a Hallmark creation. It was started in 1956 by a woman in West Virginia who volunteered with older folks and wanted to create a way to honor them. Grandparents’ Day became a national holiday in 1978. 

What I also learned from googling, though, is that today is Father’s Day in Latvia and Macedonia, Day of the Homeland in Germany, and Knabenschiessen (a holiday based around a target-shooting competition) in Switzerland. It’s also National Peanut Day. 

So we grandparents don’t have a lock on this day. Like every other holiday, we have to share it. 

Goin’ to the Chapel

Goin’ to the Chapel

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My niece is getting married today, so the family is gathering at an inn on the Chesapeake Bay for the ceremony and reception. I had a sneak preview of the spot at the rehearsal dinner last night. It’s right on the water, with gulls and boats and waves. Though less than two hours from home, it’s another world.

For the most part, my tenure as an aunt has coincided with my tenure as a mother. I had little time to relish the role in and of itself. But I felt a trace of pure “aunt-ness” yesterday … with the promise of more to come today.

It’s the same kind of love and pride you feel with your own children, just one layer removed. And, because there is more distance, there is also more perspective. At a wedding, especially, where I’ll have to do no more than a reading during the ceremony and the rest of the time enjoy myself. 

It brings back memories of almost exactly four years ago, when we turned our back yard into a wedding venue for Suzanne and Appolinaire. Weddings are like that, I think. They carry within them memories of nuptials past.