3, 2, 1, 0 Day

So here were the events of a recent day where I found myself totally snowed by chaos.  It went like this. One early Friday morning, I met my daughter half way between Dayton and Bloomington, Indiana so that I could scoop up her children for the weekend. My husband and I were looking forward to spending time with our two granddaughters, aged 3 and 1. I had activities planned for later that day. Snacks were lined up in the fridge, art projects were laid out, and an excursion to the pumpkin patch were all on the afternoon agenda. All was going according to plan until I received a call from my local son who has two children, aged 2 and 0 (well, technically not zero…really 3 months). “Mom, what’re you doing today?” “Well, I have your sister’s kids. What’s up?” “The babysitter has the flu,” he said. “We’re just wondering if you could help us for a while today.” My brain was churning. Nothing can stop me, I said to myself. I’ve had four children. Bring it on, I heard my 25-year-old self say. “No problem,” I said to my son. “Of course, bring em over.” Fast forward three hours. 

The house was a disaster. Rubber balls and play airplanes were constantly airborne, ricocheting against the splay of blocks scattered on the floor. Crayons, supposed to bring coloring book pages to life transformed my traditional style couch in to an art piece worthy of the Guggenheim Museum. Yogurt snacks became wall décor competition in who could make who laugh more. In review, I had four children, aged 3,2,1, and 0 (almost) in my charge. And to make matters worse, they really love each other. Exuberant cousin reunion time left me worried about body slams and dizzying dance parties. Little hugs and love pats can, shall we say, be misunderstood.

Thank goodness, the weather was unseasonably warm. Give little ones a hose and a soup pot on the outside deck, and they can entertain themselves for hours. One by one, they were stripped of clothes so that appropriate attire included nothing more than water logged diapers and undies. As far as Nona goes? Dry clothes are overrated. I realized I wasn’t my 25-year-old self after all, but I wasn’t without a reserve of timeless tactics for entertainment. Popsicles work every time. Despite the lingering bedlam of the day, I was left with a smile in the aftermath. Memories were made. Although my grandchildren may not remember our “3,2,1,0” day, I will. I’ll remember their smiles, their giggles in being together. I’ll remember my 3-year-old Amelia helping to calm the crying 0-year-old Eileen. I’ll remember their green and orange tongues as the popsicles dripped along their bare bellies. When the day was done, and the tired sun was about to set, I was putting to bed the oldest of our grandchildren. Normally Amelia needs lots of tuck in time with multiple story books, “laying with” periods, and reassurances that her vivid imagination will yield the sweetest of dreams. This night, however, I was spent. Instead of indulging her with the routine of comfort, I gently encouraged her. This night, I told her, she just needed to turn over and go to sleep. Simple hugs and kisses would have to do. “Nona needs to go downstairs and have a glass of wine.” I smiled as I enveloped her in my arms. Somehow, she got it. “Ok, Nona,” she giggled, and settled in to close her eyes. The day came full circle. Now my grandchild was taking care of me.