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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. 

All Dressed Up…

All Dressed Up…

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It’s the day after Labor Day, a momentous occasion that used to strike fear and excitement in the hearts of my children and all the kiddos in this area — and equal amounts of glee and relief for their parents. 

It was a day marked with the arrival of the big yellow buses lumbering down the street and stopping at the corner, where a parade of scrubbed schoolchildren with shiny new backpacks would step into them — and be whisked off to their new lives. 

That has all changed this year with the decision to hold virtual classes only in Fairfax County. There’s little glee and relief for parents, who are trying to make their children sit still for six hours of online education.  And there are no big yellow buses plying the neighborhood streets. Caption them … “all dressed up — and nowhere to go.”

Every Loop

Every Loop

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Having just completed an afghan for my first grandchild, I’m now beginning to crochet one for my second-born grandchild, due in seven weeks. It’s highly likely that the baby will be born before the blanket is completed — especially if, as seemed likely last night, I can’t even get the thing started!

I’m not what you would call a crafty person, but I believe wholeheartedly in the beauty of the homemade, in giving a child — and now a grandchild — a gift I have created with my own hands. There may be dropped stitches and other flaws, but what matters is the love worked into every loop.

This morning I decided to eschew the Youtube instructions I found last night, which got me started with a slight deviation that made me crazy, and now I’m back on track. It may not be the world’s most perfect afghan, but it will be my own — until it’s my grandchild’s, that is. 

Stretch Marks

Stretch Marks

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This is a house that has expanded and contracted so often during the last few decades that I almost wonder it doesn’t have stretch marks. 

After so many comings and goings you develop a feel for the ebbs and flows. There is the excitement when it fills again, the sense of life returning to the old place. And when that life departs for other climes, there is, of course sadness but also calmness and stability. 

While it would be easy to call the house emptier after one of these leave-takings, I know that the old place is really just holding its breath. There will be visits and returns. There will be grandchildren crawling on these floors (goodness, I’d better mop them!). 

There is life in this old house yet.