Mom and I have returned from our travels. In our 36 hours away from home the grass grew exponentially, much to Hiram’s chagrin, and the weeds did, too. Mom went to bed early and slept in late, and this morning she mentioned again how much she enjoyed the trip.
The highlight of the excursion was the impromptu coffee my Aunt Donna (second from the right) hosted. Our former neighbors dropped what they were doing when they heard their former neighbor (third from the right) was in town and stopped in for a lovely chat. Not only was Mom their neighbor, she taught most of their children. She’s now completely up to date on the lives of her former students, their children, and in some cases, their children’s children.
I am still in shock over the update, since many of Mom’s former students are my contemporaries. So how can they be grandparents already? I mean, I understand the mechanics involved. But are these people, my age and younger, old enough to be grandparents of children in high school?
A good look at the women who attended yesterday’s coffee reveals the truth. We’re all old enough to be grandparents, and some are old enough to be great-grandparents. But Mom, bless her heart, did not complain about the dearth of great-grandchildren in her family quiver.
And to make things perfectly clear to my own children, I am not complaining about my empty quiver, either. No need to rush on my account. I’m in for the long haul, ready to wait until you are ready for the joys and responsibilities of parenting.
Until that day comes, I’ll keep pretending I’m not old enough to be a grandparent. Denial is a wonderful thing.
