“Someone wants to talk to you.” I was standing in the aisle of a grocery store when I answered my cellphone and heard my eldest daughter’s voice. She sounded sleepy, but the next voice I heard was both sleepy and accusatory. “I couldn’t find you,” said my 6-year-old granddaughter.
I was in New Jersey visiting with my grandchild delivery device and her offerings to me, 11-year-old Xavion and 6-year-old Imani. My daughter works from 7 a.m. to 3:30 p.m., and on those days, is up at 5:45 a.m. My grandchildren are out of school, and are up at about, oh, 1:30 p.m. As the “grand-sitter,” that hour does not work for me. I get up early and on the mornings that Lisa was working, would try to get Imani excited about taking a “bird-walk” around the apartment complex. On this morning, Lisa was on vacation, and had demonstrated a joy in sleeping that was as deep and abiding as that shown by her children. Bing had already left for the barber shop, and as the only other person alive in the house, I decided to walk up the hill to get a daily paper.
“You are in so much trouble,” my daughter whispered to me, wagging an accusatory finger. “She sat at the top of the stairs and waited for you.” I had told Imani that I was going to be home in 10 minutes, which to her was the same as “right now.” When I had entered the door to the apartment, Imani had come to the top of the steps. Lisa told me that after we had spoken and I had assured Imani that I was coming back, Imani had gone to wait for me. Inside the apartment, Imani sat down with me on the little couch, and waited for me to unfold my paper. “I expected to see you on the couch, reading,” she told me. All my children expect to find me reading.
My grandchildren are not fans of ambulation and my granddaughter is not fond of being awake. Xavion wakens quietly, and puts on his headphones to play games on his cellphone. Imani awakens slowly and grumpily, and if I have stayed in her room, in her bed, she opens the door and climbs in with me. We will snuggle for a bit before I get her breakfast. On this day in August, I marveled again at the things that children take away from contacts with our adult presence. Imani had developed an expectation that I would be there when she woke up, which had been the case for about 20 days. (She asked me how long I was staying, and asserted that I had stayed longer “at Christmas”). But I was enjoying the stay, the chance to imprint my “Grand-brand” onto my grandbeauties, and learn more about who they were, and how I fit into their worldview. (My daughter cautioned me that my “brand” was understood and accepted by her children, but that my particular kind of crazy might be traumatic to other people’s kids. I told her that the repair work was hers to do, after I left.)
Some people will sit children down and ask them to recite what was good about the day they had just ended. I toss out joy like crumbs onto a lake’s surface, and delight in the rise of the young to feed. I never ask if the crumbs were good, or if there were enough. I dip my face into that lake, and wait for my babies to surface, and kiss me.