I was going go blog about something totally different this week, but something happened yesterday that I wanted to talk about. I’ve mentioned in other posts that I love, love, love being a grandmother. I love everything about it and have often said it’s God’s reward for raising our own children.
My two kids were good kids. They didn’t get into trouble – that I know of, anyway. They did chores, got good grades, had jobs in high school and have grown into responsible adults. That’s not to say we didn’t have our issues once in a while. My daughter and I butted heads a few times. My mother thought it was funny, and now I can laugh when she butts heads with her daughters.
Even though I loved being a mother, being a grandparent is different. We see our grandchildren with different eyes. We watch our children struggle with their own children and smile. Been there, done that. In most grandparents’ eyes, their grandchildren can do no wrong. They are the smartest, cutest, most creative and athletic, best behaved (usually) creatures on the face of the earth.
I know some young parents whose own parents refuse to be part of their grandchildren’s lives. Oh, how I feel sorry for them. One man told me he didn’t want to be a grandparent. He said, ” I don’t want to be a grandfather. It means you’re getting old.” My response: “You’re getting old anyway, you might as well enjoy it.
Anyway, my oldest granddaughter is ten. When she was one, I started sitting two days a week. Not only did it help my daughter and her husband financially, but it gave me the opportunity to be part of hers and the future little ones’ lives. For nine years I’ve taken her and her two siblings to library class, gymnastics, swimming, piano lessons, t-ball, soccer, picked them up from daycare or school when they were sick and took them to four-year-old kindergarten. The kindergarten program, which was part of the city school system, was held at their daycare. So for nine years, I’ve come to know the owner, manager and many of the teachers. Over the years, instead of daycare, we always said the kids were going to school.
Last week, my youngest grandson graduated from 4-year-old kindergarten. It was cute and fun, short and sweet. I thought I would cry knowing this would be the last one, but I didn’t. But I didn’t count on how I would feel taking him to school yesterday. Because of the snow days this year, he had to go a few extra days. As I drove him to school, I realized this was the last time I would enter that building with a little one attached to my hand, watching him grow and develop until he no longer needed the security of my hand. It would probably be the last time I would see the staff. I couldn’t believe how emotional I became.
Then, I couldn’t believe it when I cried as I left the building. Shirley, the manager gave me a hug. It wasn’t any easier when I picked him up after school and left the building and everyone said goodbye. I cried when a mother I became friends with gave me a hug.
It isn’t any easier today as I write this. It’s really bothering me that this part of my life as a grandmother is over. In the fall all three of them will be in school all day. I’m sure I’ll cry when I walk away from the building with just the dog on the leash.
All I have to do is get through a summer of swimming lessons, t-ball, gymnastics, soccer, school lessons (we keep up with learning during the summer), bike rides, hikes, camping, piano lessons, and anything else we can come up with. I won’t think about the fall. I won’t think about how fast they are growing up. Much.
I will simply think about how blessed I am to be part of their lives.
Until the next time.