Cousin Camp

Next on the summer schedule came Cousin Camp, three days of girl-time. With nary an awkward silence (can these girlies really take in what anyone else is saying with each of them chattering incessantly?) the grand-girls renewed bonds with one another. Painting, drawing, creating pizzas, playing games of scrabble and croquet, swimming, and trampoline-jumping,  the girls wiled away some summer days.

 

Young-ladies-in-the-making prepared and served a real-for-sure tea party, complete with homemade scones. They sipped from favorite picks out of the tea cupboard most lady-like with pinkies in the air. 

A fun activity, worth repeating with other groups of any age, centered around decorating a paper lunch bag to represent ourselves. We cut images from magazines and glued them on the outside  indicating that we liked chocolate or puppies or mexican food or mountain biking or algebra (pretty sure no one pictured themselves that way). Those pix that we clipped and dropped inside represented the "me that no body sees", like how I am afraid of spiders or don't like to be the center of attention or am longing to be a tight-rope walker in the circus! (One can go as deep as they like with the analogies.) Then we each talked about our bag (ourselves) in a way that was non-threatening but insightful. The process itself generated conversation informing as to where each girl saw herself and /or wanted to be and provided dialogue for encouraging one another. While the intention was that the cut and paste session would be a short interlude between events for the day, the girls lingered for a couple hours and enjoyed learning more about one another as well as themselves. 

 

STEM Revisited

As merry as is the chaos of our collective clan gathered, thirty-something of us altogether, although no one stands still long enough to be counted, there is a unique quality to sharing one-on-one, that is resplendent with  experiences not possible when the whole fam-damily is huddled.

When our kids were growing up, we called these interludes STEM (Special Times Exclusively with Mama). Having read somewhere that Suzanna Wesley set aside an hour each week to spend with each of her seventeen (or was it twenty-one?) children, I set out to do the same. Surely, if Sister Suzy could manage this without the modern conveniences at my fingertips--running water, electricity, dishwasher, automatic dryer, AND disposable diapers--I could do likewise. My wise husband, totally a champion of the idea, although leary of the mathematical equation that would allow for the extra hours woven into our schedule, suggested we dub it a "special time" rather than designating an increment of sixty minutes. And so, the children drew straws at week's beginning to determine their STEM that was tucked in around homeschooling and nap time. They then chose their activity. Interestingly, no one requestd breakfast at Tiffany's or a trip to Disnyeworld. Their hearts' desires included sailing their boat down by the creek, playing a game of checkers, or reading this book...just us two. A son once asked if he might learn how to sew on a button. One little baker requested only to add the ingredients all by herself and to lick the bowl sans siblings. Sometimes, with laundry piled high  and no conceptual plan for dinner,  I felt certain Candyland might send me right over the edge. However, at the first roll of the dice and giggle from my gaming-partner, all sense of urgency drained and I, too, was blissfully content in the present moment. Often, it was only a few minutes until the boat-sailing child was distracted and chasing frogs or the checker-player had "kinged" and jumped me right off the board. We each returned to our day refreshed.

But I have digressed....

Recently, Dasha our granddaughter, shared a week of STEG (Special Time Exclusively with Grandmoni). Creativity and energy abounding, with a penchant for pets and all-things-Geman,  Dasha reconnected with family and made new friends. We painted with an auntie in Athens, home to UGA where Dasha hopes to go to veterinary school one day, and visited another auntie in north Georgia at UNG where her daddy started out years ago.

Happily, the week included a sprinkling of STEGG moments (Special Times Exclusively with Great Granparents). Granpa, at ninety-three loved teasing and sparring with this girl, and spoiling her just a bit with his famous root beer floats. Ever-smiling, beautiful Gramma just grabbed all the hugs she could gather. Undoubtably, a summer highlight for the patriarch and matriarch of our family will be reminiscing about STED (Special Time Exclusivelywith Dasha)!

Grandmothering a Graduate

Exactly one year ago, our baby graduated from high school. The headmaster worked his way through the alphabet calling each graduate to the stage, enlisting the parents in handing over the diploma, recognizing our teamwork in reaching this goal. Awaiting our turn, I leaned over to my husband and asked why all of the parents looked like kids. "Because they are" , he chuckled. "And next year, our son is going to be doing this with our grandson."

                            

Yes, the "then" is "now". The reality of being the grandmother of a high school graduate sneaked up on me. In fact, because our oldest grandson is only eighteen months younger than our youngest child, grandmothering has taken me a bit by surprise. I had not finished reading all the parenting books much less, the grandparenting books, when our grandson was born. Delighted as I was to don this additional hat, I had questions. Was I supposed to be the indulgent grandmother? Was he supposed to have the same rules as my child? I began to imagine Josie tapping her toe with her hands on her hips. I could almost hear her thinking, "Why does he get to do that and I don't?" So I have played it by ear. This boy and this grandmother have grown up together. He got his name through me, you might say. My daddy was Emery. And he was the one to first to give me the name, Grandmoni, that has stuck with the subsequent sixteen grandchildren. We are figuring this out together. 

We have not lived in the same town making it possible to drive by for a hug. Emery has never lived next door and popped in after school for milk and cookies. Grandenny and I have not scooped him up to take him home for the day after church as do other grandparents on whom I look with more than a little envy, at times. Nonetheless, God has scripted our lives and fashioned our relationship however atypical our patterns may be. When in Tennessee  for graduation, I got to peek at a shared journal that Emery and I have passed back and forth through the USPS off and on over the years. How precious to see his stick figure drawings and kindergarten scrawls turn into more expressive thoughts and penmanship that accompanied photos we also stuck to the pages. The written words and visuals jumped off the page and helped me remember the richness of the times we have shared instead of bemoaning the fact that I have not been gramma-extraordinaire.  

I was reminded that we have snuggled and read abundant bedtime stories. We have driven to Texas and watched football under Friday night lights, where we visited school and ate lunch off  cafeteria trays.  We took miles of walks and once collected a bumper crop of hedge apples, totally enamoured with our bounty even before Google existed to identify our harvest. We have shared bonfires, s'mores and bunnies and Christmas stockings and Easter baskets. Our grandson has romped with cousins in the pool, engaged in water balloon fights & paintball wars, and participated in Thanksgiving afternoon football games. We have tied yellow ribbons around the trees, raised the flag and celebrated with all manner of red, white and blue his dad's return from Iraq. Documentation testifies to Emery's being cast in nearly every role in the family Christmas Eve pageant, starting with Baby Jesus, winding his way through shepherds and wise men and Joseph, finally graduating to narrator. Grateful I am to have written on the pages of his life. More grateful, still, to be able to pray through future ages and stages where God is fully present and we are not. He is writing the story. 

                          

In a heartbeat, my grandson became a high school graduate. And just as he has been prepared for his next steps in life, God will equip me to fulfill the role He has for me in this young man's life, not measuring myself by other GRANDmothers, (real or the movie-kind) but stepping into the work He has begun.

"For if the readiness is present, it is acceptable according to what a man has, not according to what he does not have."

II Corinthians 8:12

Next Stop.

Boot Camp.

US Army

"Our times are in Thy hand"

Psalm 31:15