Pro Ball Player

My grandson plays ball. Whatever the sport, he throws himself into it wholeheartedly. He watches every game on tv. and studies the moves. I had the pleasure of watching him in action this summer. He pitched like a pro from the mound. He stood motionless for a few moments before the wind up, bent forward, hands behind his back, ball in his glove, looking the catcher in the eye, then wound up, one leg in the air and threw the ball--exactly like a pro! It was impressive. His summers are filled with baseball. In the winter he lives for Hockey. His future will definitely be in sports, and he is destined for PRO.

Growing

Growing up is inevitable. At least physically. Seeing my grandchildren on my recent visit after last year's visit was testament to that fact. My grandson was taller and had slimmed significantly from his involvement with sports. This was also evidenced by his T-shirt which read, "Eat, Drink, Sleep, HOCKEY". My 20 month old granddaughter has learned to walk since my last visit, and is now speaking in 2 - 3 word sentences. Her personality is engaging--she is quite a tease. When we try to get her to say grandma, her eyes twinkle and she smilingly says, "Papa" in a little sweet voice. During my week-long visit, I caught only glimpses of my grandson. He spent most of his time in the Arizona Room playing his Playstation, or off with friends somewhere playing. He is ten now, so I know that is typical behavior. It seems the more he grows, the harder it is to connect with him. I should know this also from raising my own two children. I find myself needing to grow in this area. I need to give him the time to grow, and accept the time we do spend together. Rather than grieving time lost, I am determined to be grateful for time spent. Time is fleeting and fickle. Hang onto those precious moments, and treasure them in your heart.

Outgrowing Gubba

Here I am visiting my grandkids in New York. A year has grown my grandson three inches and handsomer than ever. At ten and headed for fifth grade, he has little time for his doting grandmother. There are Play Station and XBox games, hockey and baseball drawing him away... He is a loving brother to his 20 month old little sister, a loving son, and responsible young man at home and school. Each year will take him further from his Gubba's loving arms. That is as it shoulg be. I just sit back and watch, loving each new and wonderful phase of his growing.

Memories

When we were planning my trip to New York this Summer, I asked my grandson, "What should we do together while I'm visiting?" He began to list: "Go for walks, bake cookies...", all the things we did together when he still lived here in Arizona. Recently when his mom asked him what he wanted to do when Gubba comes, he said, "She can bake peanutbutter cookies." Why peanutbutter cookies? I thought. What memory does that hold? He always enjoyed baking cookies with me. Why this particular kind? Is he just hungry for them? Or is there a memory connection? When we baked peanutbutter cookies it was his job to make the crisscross marks in the tops of the cookies with a fork. I wonder if he is remembering that. When I get there we will be making more cookies. And more memories.

Getting Ready

A little wooden rocking chair sits in front of the fireplace, overflowing with gifts, awaiting my grandkids visit. A rag doll with blanket, books (of course), music CD of lullabies, hockey, hockey, and more hockey stuff. A new car seat, a second-hand playpen, a doll highchair, teddybears everywhere waiting to play. We'll need new chains on the swings out back, clean off the porch. Ready the bedrooms, clean out the tub. We'll celebrate all their birthdays at once while they are here. Cook a Thanksgiving turkey, holding thankfulness in our hearts. The arms of the rocking chair, openly inviting. Gubba's arms and heart, waiting, wide-open.

Grand Slam

Bases were loaded. It was the top of the 6th inning. Cedric was up to bat. He had 3 balls, 2 strikes. He swung. He hit it deep into right field. One, two, three runners home. Cedric made it to third. The pitcher had the ball again. The runs tipped the score in their favor and the game was called before Ced could make it home. Now, I'm not a baseball officianado, but in my book, that was a GRAND SLAM!

Little Angel

My grandson, from time to time, would get into a little trouble. My daughter and I would discuss the issue, and I would give her some advice on how she could handle the situation. During a conversation with my daughter, she made some remark about Cedric's recent behavior. When I questioned her further, she told me that Cedric didn't want her to tell me about his bad behavior, because "she thinks I'm an angel." I have always been the one he runs to when in trouble. No matter what the behavior, I always love him. Not that his parent don't, I think it's just that when he's in trouble with his parents, he feels that for awhile. He may have chores or consequences afterwards, and probably feels disappointed with himself. With his gubba, he gets that immediate comfort of unconditional love. I don't have to dole out the punishment, just love. And I LOVE doing just that!