Following a recent weekend of grandparent bliss, I was anxious to return my home to order. My husband and I waved goodbye, stealing a few more kisses from the little ones buckled in their car seats. And then we offered one another a sigh of relief. Time for normalcy.
The next hours were spent picking up blocks, sweeping floors and returning little toys to my grandchild cabinet. It felt good to restore harmony. As I surveyed my home, room by room, I was stopped time and again by heart memory. There, under the couch was a lost little sock reminding me of those little blue tennis-shoed feet running down the driveway in pursuit of the bouncing ball. Chubby legs moving so fast challenge my sprinting skills. In the bathroom, princess stickers lined the wall from floor to toddler eye level. I smiled.
I could still hear my granddaughter sing her repertoire of Disney songs. Rubber toys remained scattered in the once filled tub, and I remembered how my clothes became wet while washing feet gone wild. I found the missing puzzle pieces beneath the kitchen table, and the clean laundry basket uncovered burp cloths, “Somebody Loves Me” onesies, and tiny head bows.
I think there was a time I thought my home would be different once my kids left. Some other version of me dreamt of tidiness, organization and the ability to host the Queen upon the occasion of any pop in visit. But alas, at least for now, that’s not the case. Disorder seems to reign pretty often, but within that world treasures unearth. The grasp of little tubby fingers along the sidewalk transcends the heart. Curious minds curled in a cozy lap are a reminder of how imaginations come alive through storybook pages. And perhaps most poignant is the knowing that relationship seeds between child and grandparent bear the sweetest of fruits.
So, for today, I sit with order. My house is quiet and floors are without clutter. Soon enough, I trust, there will be another day when equilibrium is replaced by mess and squeals of delight. I realize that as long as I am not wearing yogurt on my face, fun-filled chaos at Nona’s house is nothing short of perfect.
Anne Marie Romer is one of our regular community contributors.
I think there was a time I thought my home would be different once my kids left. Some other version of me dreamt of tidiness, organization and the ability to host the Queen upon the occasion of any pop in visit. But alas, at least for now, that’s not the case.
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