This was originally posted on http://www.yetthereismethod.net/
Grandchildren.
Wow, I could probably just leave that one word there and my readers could come up with their own stories, whether about their own grandchildren, or their experiences as grandchildren. Hopefully they would be happy stories, but some–like many of mine–would be about sadness and memories.
Today’s story, though, is one of happiness–the kind found in the presence of young children whom one loves.
My granddaughters (my wife would correct me to say, “our granddaughters”) are in the last months of their second and third years. I can’t just say they’re two and three, because so much happens in those years. They’re only 13 months apart (what was my daughter thinking), but the youngest has had a model in the oldest, so developmentally they’re quite close. Simple words and phrases have become entire conversations, toddling across the floor has progressed to running through the yard, and they’re even starting to develop a sense of humor. The oldest is the serious one (as is so often the case), and the youngest has a sparkle to her eyes that cause me to pause and wonder what’s coming next.
They were over today, and the spring-like weather prompted me to drop their mother a note to ensure they came dressed to go outside. We played with the chickens, despite the squawking protests that we were met with. We investigated the buds forming on the lower branches of the backyard shrubs. We checked the mailbox beside the chicken coop (another story, there) and found the leaves that had been placed there a few visits ago. And we cut flowers.
“Nana, Nana! Can we pick flowers?!” “Picking” daffodils is an adventure, because it involves scissors. The first few attempts were, of course, rushed snips that resulted in much more bloom than stem. Eventually, though, the skill was mastered.
It seems a cliched expression, but they both actually stick their tongues out slightly as they concentrate. The scissors are place on the stem just below the flower, and then slid “all the way to the bottom, right Nana?” One at a time, the golden treasures are cut from the plants and carried to the waiting cup of water. The first time we did this, pictures were taken. Now, memories are solidified (ours, not the kids, I suppose) and hearts are warmed.
I can’t wait until the next flowers bloom.
Yet There is Method 