The Gift

"A grandchild fill a space in your heart that you never knew was empty."

Author: Unknown

I was never going to be one of “those” grandparents.  You know the type.  They carry enough pictures for a photo gallery; they have bumper stickers that insist that you ask them about their grandbaby, and are firmly convinced that no other child that has ever existed is as beautiful, clever or adorable as their grandchild.  Nope, that was definitely not me!

Until November 13^th, 1994.  I was only 39, so maybe I can use that as my excuse.  I had been ready to head to Fort Carson Army Base all day November 12^th.  My son called and told me that his wife was in labor so I loaded my car.  He called me back and told me they sent her home, so I unpacked my car.  I had clients that I needed to see if it was a false alarm.  He called two more times to tell me she was in the hospital and two more times telling me they were false alarms.  Since I had false labor with my own first born, I knew it could be another week.

At 6:30 a.m. on the 13^th, the phone rang.  “Are you heading back in?” I asked sleepily.  “He’s here!” my son answered in a voice I’ve never heard before or since.  “He can’t be here!  I’m not there!”

I began to cry…more like sobbing, really.  There was something so emotional to suddenly feel immortal.  No matter what, a little part of me goes on.  I’m not saying that’s a good thing, but it is an emotional thing.  I flew to Colorado Springs on grandmother wings.  I made it in twelve hours flat. 

I rushed into the hospital room and my son handed me the baby, Michael Jonathan Philbeck.  I looked at him and he studied me and that was it.  I was sucked into the obnoxious grandmother vortex, from which no one has even been known to return. When you see your own child for the first time, you love them, it’s natural, but when you see your grandchild for the first time, you fall in love with them.  All the nonsense you believed and practiced with your children…all the things your ego insisted your children would never do…all those unreasonable expectations just melt away. 

If my grandbaby wants to pretend to be a choo choo train or a dinosaur (pronounced, dinofore) in public…so be it!  Who cares what people think?  If we need to watch Bambi or Dumbo 1,000 times because it’s Monday, crank up the VCR. 

My grandson came to live with me when he was two years old.  He is a gift that I didn’t even realize I needed.  Not every moment was fun, but every moment has been filled with love and I am forever grateful!

By the way, in case you were wondering, he’s a straight A, Honor Society, Debate winning, guitar playing, sweet, kind and extremely handsome young man.  I knew you wanted to ask, but I misplaced that silly bumper sticker!

Happy 17^th Birthday, Michael Jonathan!  Your Punkin loves you more than life!

"A mother becomes a true grandmother the day she stops noticing the terrible things her children do because she is so enchanted with the wonderful things her grandchildren do."

Author: Lois Wyse

Driving Lessons

"When everything's coming your way, you're in the wrong lane." --unknown

As my grandson gets ready to drive, I try to lend him all my brilliant techniques, you know, the ones that can’t be found in the Driver’s Manual, because I suspect they are written by men.

First: And most important, try to plan out each trip in a circular pattern.  If you always go in circles, you don’t have to cross traffic.  All my trips are circular and if they can’t be, I know the nearest light.  I have been known to only choose stores that fit into my hamster wheel of easy driving.

Second: If you have to cross four lanes of traffic, you might have to spend the rest of your life sitting there.  Turn in the direction of the traffic and then turn in somewhere and turn around.  Then you’ll be going the right direction and you have the illusion that you were moving the whole time.  Cuts down on frustration and possibly the horrible effects of road rage…well, it’s possible!

Third: The highways in Tulsa had names before they had numbers.  I don’t know their numbers, it seems impersonal to me.  We have the Skelly Bypass, the Okmulgee Beeline, the Crosstown…which turns into the Keystone Expressway if you’re going west, there’s the Broken Arrow and the Turnpike.  When people start telling me to go on Highway 44 to 75, etc., I have no idea what they’re talking about.  I do know 169 because it never had a name…sad.

Fourth: Ask for directions!  I seem to have the best luck with foreign men giving me directions.  I now look for exotic looking men and hope they’re not Americans for all my directions. 

Fifth: Follow your instincts.  I drove to Philly one year, and I don’t believe in maps.  I saw the harbor and decided, that had to be where the old town would be.  I took the exit and got right where I wanted to go.  When it was time to leave, a lovely man with a great accent told me the three turns to take to get back on the highway.  My sister called from outside Philly the next year.  She and her husband, with their maps and electronics got completely lost.

Sixth: If you know you’re going to get off at a certain exit, don’t wait until you are right on the exit to start scooting over.  I know several people, who may or may not be related to me by marriage, that love nothing more than driving as far from the exit as possible and then being very upset when they can’t just shoot off the highway because of all the traffic…duh!   

Seventh: When you’re traveling with your (grand)children, make as many happy memories as you can.  Make up songs, have a certain hotel that you can’t live without, let soda cans implode in your car at least once, take sandwich stuff, point out every silly thing that nobody else notices, and if you happen to run into a trash can that’s chained to a post in Virginia…just call the green scratch a souvenir (in fact all dents that occur on trips are souvenirs).   Laughter is like taking a permanent snapshot that one word can pull back into memory. 

Happy Trails

I couldn't repair your brakes, so I made your horn louder."--

Unknown