“It’s not only children who grow. Parents do too. As much as we watch to see what our children do with their lives, they are watching us to see what we do with ours.”
—Joyce Maynard
Right Now is all we have
Seconds after entering the room, a fuzzy rabbit sailed past my head. A multi-colored caterpillar and peals of laughter followed that. I ducked away from the soft missiles and saw my two grandkids peering from behind the sofa. Soon, another stuffed toy flew in my direction—more laughter.
“Hey! What’s going on?” I said.
“We. Are. Robots,” said my grandson in a staccato voice.
My granddaughter frowned at her brother. “I’m a kitty, NOT a robot.” She then crawled around the couch and pounced on me. “Meow.”
“Okay, but why are you throwing your toys at me?” I asked.
More giggles. My granddaughter licked my arm. “Meow.”
“We’re playing, Grandma. Play with us.”
I had the distinct feeling I was, in their minds, a lovable moron. A person not capable of understanding the enchanted world I had chosen to enter. Their world.
Yeah, guilty.
Wait. Maybe it’s not that I don’t understand, but that I have forgotten. My imagination has faded under the hot, bright light of adult responsibilities. I am a caregiver for my husband. My mind straddles the pleasures of yesterday and the obligations of tomorrow.
Post-it notes list tasks that need to be done, and a calendar filled with reminders for upcoming events helps me feel that the future is somewhat under control.
However, should I ask my grandkids if they are excited about going to the zoo in a couple of days, they stare blankly at me. A couple of days? That’s like a bajillion years from now. What they really want to talk about is whether they can have a snack right now. Preferably one that Momma wouldn’t let them have, but grandma might… (Guilty yet again!)
Time. I often ask my grandson how a playdate went or if he had fun at preschool. He looks confused for a moment, and then says something like, “That was yesterday.” In other words, why did I want to talk about the past? He wants to know what we are going to do right now. Play? Go outside for an adventure?
Right now. Right now.
I look at my granddaughter and scoop up a teddy bear. “I am going to get you!” I say via the teddy. I rub the bear on her tummy and she squeals with laughter. Her brother runs to join in the fun, and soon we are a heap of tangled legs, arms, and smiles.
What a gift to be reminded in the sweet voices of children that Right Now is all we have.
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