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A Grandmother's Wish
If I could,
sweet granddaughter of mine,
these things I’d steal from you
and store deep down in my pocket,
yes, deep down in my pocket
with my small change.
Your bubblegum kisses
That dimple on your cheek
The fresh-as-rain scent of your hair
The mischief gleaming in your eyes
Those dirty fingernails
(Are they ever clean?)
The puddle of tears
when you fall and skin your knee
trying to outrun the wind.
Your shrieks of laughter
when I find you hidden, yet again,
behind the closet door.
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Your giggle,
tinkling like piano keys,
when I tickle the small of your back.
The squeak of your wet feet in the tub
as you step into the towel
I hold open for you.
Your blonde hair
glowing like 1,000 stars
as you swing in the sunshine,
reaching for the clouds with your toes.
The wonder in your voice when we discuss
the Tooth Fairy and Santa Claus.
Your silent slumber—
that rare moment when
words don’t tumble nonstop
from your lips.
The feel of your arms circling my neck
as you whisper secrets in my ear.
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If I could,
sweet granddaughter of mine,
these things I'd steal from you
and store deep down in my pocket,
yes, deep down in my pocket
with my small change.
Each time
my fingers brushed them,
I’d be reminded once again
that coins are only money,
but these treasures I have gathered
make me rich beyond compare.
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Dinner - Part I
A grandmother is a babysitter who watches the kids
instead of the television.~Unknown
When I eat dinner with my grandkids we follow a routine: they turn off the TV, wash their hands and sit at the table while I warm up and serve each of our meals. I always serve my meal last which means that for a minute or so they are holding their forks, staring down at their food, eager to dig in.
It’s quite a challenge for them not to plow in and start eating the moment their plates hit the table. They watch each other like hawks while waiting for me to join them. |
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If Justin forgets and grabs a quick bite his sister yells, “You have to wait for Mamaw!” Realizing his gaffe, he sheepishly grins up at me and apologizes.
Other times, Justin makes a game of waiting. While I’m finishing up in the kitchen, he slowly moves his fork toward his plate pretending he’s going to take a bite. I spin around to catch him red-handed and he says, “Dang!”
Jayla, on the other hand, always remembers to wait. And she makes it her personal mission to make sure her brother does, too. All the time. No exceptions. So last night she took great offense when her brother said, “Mamaw, Jayla started eating.”
“I did not!” She stuck out her chin and puffed herself up with all the righteous indignation a five-year old can muster.
“I’m being paaa-tient.”
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Dinner — Part II
When Justin, Jayla and I sit down at the dinner table, I say the prayer before we start to eat. I was surprised last night when Jayla announced she would say the prayer. She was eager to share with us one she had recently learned in preschool. Justin and I folded our hands, bowed our heads, and waited for her to begin.
Jayla drew a deep breath.“I pledge allegiance to the flag...”
Justin and I smiled and joined in. We all said “Amen” at the end. Jayla was proud of having memorized all the words—quite an accomplishment for a preschooler. When I told her it was a lovely prayer, she beamed with delight.
And it was. In fact, it was perfect.
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Flammable Candy Canes
The dusting of snow scarcely covered the grass, but Justin had a plan. He rooted through the garage, tossing aside brooms and rakes, until he uncovered his father’s coal shovel—which was taller than he was. Then outdoors he went.
When the door closed behind him, I crept to the dining room window and pulled aside the curtain. There he was, pushing that enormous shovel in laps around the entire yard, slowly gathering miniscule amounts of snow garnished with tufts of grass and clumps of dirt.
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Before long, he opened the front door. His cheeks were rosy from the cold, and his eyes glowed with excitement. He said he was nearly finished but needed my help. I zipped up my coat, pulled on my gloves, and stepped outside just as the sun was dipping below the horizon. The cold air stung my cheeks. My breath formed frosty puffs like conversation bubbles in a comic strip.
“Ta-da!” He pointed to a spot in the front yard. In the remaining vestiges of daylight I could barely make out a tiny mound of snow shaped in an inverted ‘V.’ Standing on its peak, like a miniature flag pole, was a red-and-white candy cane.
“Know what it is?” A wide smile stretched across his face.
“Hmm.” I folded my arms across my chest and tapped my chin with my finger while carefully studying the structure. “A fort?”
“No, it’s a ramp!”
“Oh, I see that now," I lied. "But what’s the candy cane for?”
His voice grew solemn as he unveiled his master plan. “First I’m going to wait till more snow falls. Then I’m going to ride my bike up the ramp so fast I’ll light the candy cane on fire!” I nodded appreciatively. “But, right now,” he continued, “I need your help packing the snow.”
Around and around the ramp we stomped. The only sound was the crunch of snow beneath our boots. Justin's eyes were wide in anticipation of the aerial feats he planned to perform. I was trying to keep a straight face.
As the evening stars lit the ink-black sky, Justin stepped back to inspect our work and declared we were finished. I suspected his decision was heavily influenced by the rumbling sounds coming from his empty stomach. But, whatever the reason, we gave each other a high five and congratulated ourselves for a job well done.
Did I tell Justin sugar is not known to be highly combustible? Absolutely not. I'm hoping he'll actually set that candy cane on fire.
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