A Return to the Waltons

 

 

Some of my best blog ideas often come from everyday conversations.  Last week at the bus stop, I was talking to one of my grandson's neighbors.  She asked me if I lived with my son and daughter-in-law.  She and her husband came to the U.S. from India several years ago, and they were astonished that families lived separately from grandparents in this country.  She said the custom in India is that after marriage, the wife moves into her husband's home and their children are raised in that home.  As we talked, I realized how much life has changed in our own country through the years.  When I was growing up, my grandparents lived with us, as was the case with many grandparents.  Looking back through history, it seems the majority of families lived together or in close proximity; many of our historic homes have additions from different time periods because as the family expanded, new rooms were necessary.  In India, this must still be the custom, with close family bonds between the generations, aunts, uncles and cousins.





 

And, I thought, what a secure life this must be for children.  There is always someone at hand who is related to them, and cares deeply for them.  I know I was never left with a babysitter because my grandmother was always right there with me when my parents went out.  In modern society, children tend to move out of their parents' home as soon as they are financially independent; they very seldom live with their parents once they have children of their own, unless there are financial difficulties.  And this is life the way we know it. 

 

We were raised to be independent, and now, as grandparents, we are encouraged to be independent, active, and involved in the community at large.  Many grandparents are separated by long distances from their children and grandchildren.  We have come to accept this as the norm.  I value my independence, and would never choose to live with one of my children.  I dedicate many hours of each day to the care and guidance of my three little grandchildren, but I return home to my own quiet house in the evening.

 

Fortunately for the grandchildren of today, many grandparents are taking on the role of caregiver while parents work.  How much better for a child to be with a grandparent all day, with the security of unconditional love, than with a stranger, no matter how kind and loving he or she may be.  How wonderful for grandparents to share special everyday moments with these children of their children.

 

And, I wonder, was life better when families were closer in proximity or shared a family home? I'm sure there were arguments and issues to smooth over, but were they comforted by knowing the financial burdens of running a home did not fall on two parents alone?  Were the children happier and more secure being surrounded by loved ones?  Did shared labor make the chores less tedious and time consuming?  Were there always extra hands available to rock a teething baby, bathe a tired toddler, practice spelling words?  Was it easier to care for the elderly and the disabled when they were living under the same roof, and there were many family members to share the burden of their care each day?

 

I think maybe those were better times; however, I'm not certain that anyone would choose to go back to that way of life now.  Our generation raised our children to be independent and to follow their own paths, and they are happy with homes of their own, and the privacy to conduct their family lives the way they choose.  I am happy to take care of my grandchildren during the day, but still feel the need for quiet evenings to rest and enjoy my own pursuits.

 

And yet, I wonder -- do we work harder and stress more than necessary in the name of independence?  Do we value our independence too much to return to another way of life, even if it meant less stress?  What do you think?

 

Passing Down

We are on our way across the driveway to the car, and Alivia lingers near the bed of flowers.  She reaches her hand out and gently cups a tiny pink flower.  "What is the name of this flower, Grammy", she says, and I tell her it is a Bleeding Heart.  She wants me to give her a Bleeding Heart plant for her garden at home.  Luke tells his father we shouldn't cut trees down, "because they help us breathe," and my son asks me, "Did you tell him that?"  Of course I did.  Emma sees a red bird and says, "There's a cardinal," because we watch for them at the bird feeder.  We talk about nature all the time.  These little grandchildren of mine soak up knowledge of the world around them. 

In fact, all three of them love to talk -- sometimes the chatter in the car is almost indecipherable as they all talk at the same time.  But these are also the moments when they often surprise me with their deep insights and thoughtful questions.  These are the times when we discuss so much -- feelings, religion, values, family history, fiction vs. reality.  Luke loves to ask what things were like when I was a little girl. 

Last week I prepared egg salad to make sandwiches for lunch.  Alivia wanted to cut them into little triangles as we did last year when we had a tea party with her other grandmother.  We cut them and placed them on a pretty china plate, standing up like sailboats as her great grandfather had done when her grandmother was a little girl.  The next morning as I was making breakfast, Alivia asked if she could get some of the pretty china out for breakfast.  She went into the china closet and carefully picked out small plates and coffee cups to set the table.

My home is filled with lovely old family photos.  All three grandchildren love to look at the photos, learning the faces of their ancestors.  They hear the stories of my grandfather's desk that holds their crayons and paper and of the teddy bears collected by my mother and my sister.  My mother's dressing table is a favorite of them all, with its large mirror, and the perfume bottles, jewelry and little treasures it holds.

While much of each day is spent taking care of my little ones physically -- keeping them safe, clean, dressed, and fed, the most important moments of the day are these times when I am sharing memories and stories -- when I am encouraging them to notice the beauty in the world around them -- when I am showing them that kindness and honesty are still important in our high-tech world.  This "passing down" of their family history and the values of a slower, gentler time will be etched in their hearts forever.

Best Laid Plans

I am currently reading a lovely book, The Little Bookstore of Big Stone Gap, by Wendy Welch -- the story of a couple who opens a used bookstore in a small southern town.  This book speaks to me and to the dreams I once held in my heart.

Looking back, I realize I have always had an entrepreneural spirit.  Although my chosen path as I came of age in the 1960's was to be a full-time Mom, there were always precious dreams of the options open to me when my children were older.

As my best friend and I sat together in our living rooms in the 1970's, surrounded by little children and toys, we talked of opening a little downtown lunch place someday, serving our homemade soups and breads to busy State workers.  We both loved to cook, and this seemed like a wonderful business that would work well for us.  But, this was not to be.  She ended up as one of those busy State workers, herself, and I spent my days doing the administrative work for our family electrical construction business.  I still think of that dream as I simmer soup on the stove and lovingly ladle its warmth and flavor out to family and friends.

In the 1990's and very early 2000's, my dream was to open a small antique, gift or used-book shop when my daughter finished high school.  It was a prosperous time of nostalgia for the Victorian era -- shops such as these were numerous and successful.  I treasured this dream of mine -- picturing a shop in an old building with lots of character -- warm wood, coffee, tea, mulled cider for sipping, comfy chairs here and there, fresh flowers -- and personal attention to the needs of my customers.  A lovely dream. 

But, reality has been much different -- struggles in the mid-2000's to keep our failing construction business afloat, and the birth of my precious grandchildren.  Once these little ones were born, my dreams of a quaint shop were replaced with the strong desire to care for them while their mothers worked.   Since the first day I began this new chapter of my life in 2007, I have never regretted my decision.  I provide them with safety, security and unconditional love, and I am rewarded with hugs, kisses, and innocent trust.  I believe I am doing the most important work I could do.

However, there are days when I do miss the dream -- the little shop, the flowers, books, antiques, and the aroma of coffee.   As I read this book about the used bookstore, I am enchanted by the life the owners lead and the people who frequent their shop.  The dream is still vivid in my heart, but my best laid plans have been replaced by a calling much more important -- a change in plans I will never regret.

"Misty Watercolor Memories..."

I wake to a snowy morning, with school delays and closings scrolling along the bottom of the 6:00 AM news broadcast.  Snow days carry so many memories.  As a child I remember the tremendous joy of an unexpected reprieve from school. 

Memories of my child-rearing years focus on the pleasures of an unscheduled day with three ecstatic children -- the gift of "no school" and piles of fluffy snow was something to treasure.  The reality of those snow days was the repetitious process of gathering wet jackets, snowpants, scarves, hats, and gloves and shoving them into the dryer as I mopped up water on the kitchen floor and put cocoa on the stove to warm -- and then gathering the warm, dry outerwear from the dryer as everyone headed back outside for another round of sledding and horseplay in the lovely white stuff.  The memory that warms my heart, though, is the pleasure of having all three children and their friends together for the day -- hot cocoa and cookies from the oven warming their hands and hearts. 

This past week, our snow day was a time to gather my three little grandchildren together at my house.  For the past year and a half, I have cared for them at my son's home; this year, Alivia began full-day kindergarten, which means she and Luke have only an hour together in the morning to play.  They were so excited at the thought of spending the snow day at Grammy's house -- an entire day together.  We worked on a craft project, which my artsy little ones love -- snowmen made from socks -- as the snow gently fell on the outside world.

During the afternoon, I held them in my lap as I read favorite books to them -- and we recalled the days when they were babies together, and I snuggled them in my lap anytime we all felt the need for the warmth of a hug.  They carry so many warm memories of those years together in my cozy old house, and I cherish those memories myself.  I know the reality was less than idyllic -- stiff joints and aching back for Grammy, tantrums, diapers, the craziness of life with toddlers -- but these are the memories that must be deliberately summoned.  The memories that come to mind instead are those that have been gently colored by the brushstrokes of time -- the peaceful moments when I held two sleeping babies in my arms, the sight of two precious little heads side by side playing with their dolls or their blocks.  Even now, as I lay on Emma's bed at naptime, with pain in my back and my hands going numb from rubbing her legs as I sing to her, the memory I carry instead is of her precious little face on the pillow beside me.

And, while the snow day this past week was hectic, noisy, long, and very tiring, already my "misty memory" is one of a perfect day -- all three of my beloved little ones together again in my old house, playing, drawing, laughing, making snowmen that will not melt away, and memories that will become more and more beautiful with time -- 

Moments

"Life isn't a matter of milestones, but of moments." -- Rose Fitzgerald Kennedy

 

 

My mornings are a tightly scheduled dance -- out of bed and ready for Alivia's arrival at 6:30 AM, a few minutes of cuddling and reading with her, preparing breakfast together, and leaving in time to arrive at Luke & Emma's house by 8:00 AM.   We are greeted with hugs and kisses when we arrive, and then we have about a half hour to be sure everyone has been fed and dressed, enjoyed a bit of playtime, and gathered together schoolbags, coats and hats.  I hurry them all to the car, buckle them into their seats, and we drive to Alivia's house so she can catch the school bus for kindergarten at 8:57.  As soon as Alivia is safely on the bus, we drive across town to Luke's preschool, which begins at 9:15. When Emma and I finally arrive back home at 9:30, I am exhausted.

We soon realized that we were arriving at Luke's preschool a little early, so instead of waiting in the hallway for the door to open, one morning I took a slight detour over a lovely country road nearby.  Luke was immediately captivated.  That first morning the sun was shining brightly, the trees were showing off their magnificent autumn colors, and the dusky mountains rose behind them -- a blue so deep it was almost purple.  There are farms dotted along the road -- some well-kept and others with tired old buildings and machinery lying about.  Luke loves the barns.  A tiny green valley lies at the heart of one farm -- with cattle scattered about and sheep grazing lazily on the hillside.  A small family cemetery sits atop a hill.  Luke calls this the "pretty road," and it has become our morning destination each day. 

One morning we spotted a farmer's field filled with Canadian geese sunning themselves.  It seems there is always something new to see on this quiet old rural road.  Luke points out each of his favorite places and asks the deeper questions that rise in his mind as he travels through this serene landscape.  Yesterday morning we stopped for a group of wild turkeys who couldn't quite decide which side of the road they wanted to explore -- the cornfield or the shady stand of old trees.  We have both grown to cherish this little detour.  I love watching Luke's response to the natural beauty around him, and he loves the old barn that is falling down.  And, I know that this year will be over quickly and Luke will be getting on a school bus next year.  Our little drives over the "pretty road" will be a thing of the past, but, for today, these are moments that we both treasure.