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Victories and Defeats
Our little grandbabies are so precious to us, and we celebrate every tiny new victory, every gained bit of knowledge. He is my whole life, and I mourn as each of those things we celebrate in the children are taken from him: how do you play that game? How do you do a puzzle? When do I take those pills?
Little Yellow Bowl My little yellow bowl broke today, its handle finally succumbing to 34 years of regular use and hot dishwashers. It’s not much of a bowl. Plastic, part of a set long gone. And I was surprised at the rush of emotion I felt. You see, my mother-in-law gave me that bowl. She gave me the whole set as part of a large box of utensils and bowls and dishcloths and other kitchen things her son and I would need as we set up our first home together. While many may not see that as such a big deal, it was. I was most decidedly not her choice for her son. And yet, she still did this thoughtful thing. I use that bowl for nearly everything. It has a little spout, making it perfect for pouring pancake batter on a hot griddle or cake mix into cupcake tins. And every time I used it over the years, I thought about her. The rest of the contents of that box are mostly long gone. But the little yellow bowl hung in there, for 34 years. My mother-in-law and I had what can ta...
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When did she start getting acne, and breasts, and ...tall? How can this child who was, I’m quite sure, born just a year or two ago, talk to me about Broadway, and Beethoven and boys?
Someone once asked me which childhood age was my favorite…when did I like my kids best? I thought about it and realized I love them all.
I love the amazing, indescribable look of pure trust in my baby’s eyes as our gazes lock while she nurses…the belly laugh of a toddler, those tiny fingers wrapped around just one of mine…the first-day-of-school jitters (mine, not hers) as she walks away from the safe nest we’ve created for her, into a big unknown world awash in possibility…birthday parties and piñatas…frightful sounds honking out of the next room as she learns to play sax and wonders, 3 months into it, if she’s ready for a jazz band…that smart-aleck look the day she realizes she’s as tall as…taller than, mom…her face beaming with pride at the awards ceremony…my baby, in cap and gown, marching across the stage…going off to college in the big city into a bigger unknown world awash in even great possibility …making her own way…amazing.
Where are you going, my little one, little one?
Where are you going, my baby, my own?
Turn around and you’re two; turn around and you’re four.
Turn around and you’re a young girl going out of the door.