Crazy Kind of Love
The other day, my husband dressed for work. As per usual, his last act of grooming before walking out the door was to sit at the kitchen table and put his socks and shoes on. We chatted insignificantly as I drank coffee and perused the newspaper. He stood and proceeded to walk to the hall coat closet and grab his coat.
“Wait,” he mumbled with furrowed brow. Shaking his foot, he complained that something wasn’t right. Annoyed by the feeling under his toes, he sat back down on the kitchen chair to remove the problematic shoe. Reaching inside with his hand, he pulled out (you’ll never guess) a baby pacifier.
We burst into laughter. There were no words that could describe how an almost 1-year-old’s pacifier could possibly end up inside his grandfather’s black leather dress shoe.
In the aftermath of grandchildren invasion, bringing order or finding unexpected displacements are just par for the course. Following our big family Christmas gathering, it took us two days to find a missing TV channel changer. As I packed up the battery powered North Pole train that encircled the Christmas tree, I discovered various miniature little plastic Paw Patrol pups that had found a new home in Santa’s rail cars. My collection of colorful scarves lay in a row after what can only be imagined as a fancy fashion show. Sparkle headbands were left in my makeup drawer. Precious “smelly marker” artwork lined my kitchen cabinets, and a multitude of Dum-Dum lollipop wrappers were found stuffed under the couch. Apparently, there was a covert operation of sweetness. I wondered, at the time, what all the giggling was about. No harm, so I did nothing. One can do such a thing as a grandmother.
Sounds chaotic, right? To be sure, having 8 grandchildren here at the same time is nothing short of crazy. It’s the kind of crazy we love, and perusing our home after they leave is like reliving the memory of our precious time together. I love they are getting old enough to create alliances and cement cousin bonds that can enrich relationships for a lifetime.
You can’t make the stuff of grandparenthood up. Whether it’s a pacifier in your shoe, forgetting your granddaughter applied makeup to your face before you head off to the grocery store, or finding that lost family room TV remote control under a bed, our grandkids keep us on our toes and seeped in the realm of fun. I used to dream of the days when my kitchen table would be worthy enough for a permanent silk floral arrangement, but I’ve come to reconcile that will never be part of my norm (which is why I LOVED my catalogue-worthy Christmas tree).
For the moment, all is together. Soon, however, I fully anticipate little kid disruption to run through the garage, dump their shoes and coats, and make a beeline into our hearts. I think of my mom who was always able to put order into her life. No, her definition of meaning didn’t involve anything tangible or valuable in worldly ways; rather her priority was the sharing of smiles and bombardment of hugs. I channel her every time glitter glue is smeared on my not so flawless kitchen table.
As far as the pacifier gone rogue? We didn’t return it to our grandson. We are keeping it safe and secure as a reminder of the impermanency of this most special phase of love we are immersed in. That grandson will grow quickly, but at least for now, we have proof of our crazy days of loving him. I’ll give you a hint as to where you might find it.