Heavy Lays the Joy

Anticipation.

If anyone knows me well, they will know that I do not handle anticipation well.  For nearly nine months I have awaited the birth of the newest addition to the family . . . a granddaughter.  For the past two and a half weeks I have been hyper-vigilant, constantly checking my cell phone waiting for that big announcement that the granddaughter had arrived . . . because the daughter was told that the baby would arrive at any time . . . and, she never did.  I kept my schedule free, gave up activities, and twiddled my thumbs as I waited.  The little squirt would come out and play with the rest of us . . . stubborn little cuss.  My anxiousness was pretty obvious as I texted and called the daughter with the question: You still pregnant?  Only to be told, "Yep."

Yep, she was still pregnant when I left on a business trip for two-and-a-half days in Helena.  The report from the daughter was that the kid would probably still be in hiding by the time I got back from the trip.  Unfortunately, or fortunately for the "tired of being pregnant" daughter, the kid started to tease everyone with lots of false alarms . . . false alarms that were actually the prelude to the big show.  Then it happened . . . the daughter was admitted to the hospital, the doctor and daughter were determined that the kid was coming once and for all . . . and, I was in Helena.  Checking the cell phone every five minutes.  Reading cryptic updates.  All with the patience of Job!

Then, at 4:30PM, I got the last message: an hour.  The baby would be making her appearance into the world in an hour.  My response was: let me know.  And, then, that was the last I heard of anything.  Nothing.  That was the longest hour every experienced or recorded in history.  Nothing but silence.  I knew nothing.

Now I am not some spring chicken when it comes to the birth of a child . . . after all, I went through four births with the wife . . . so, I know that these deliveries can be sporadic once they are set into motion.  I know that they can go like gangbusters and suddenly slow down to a crawl.  Not hearing anything I just figured that that was the case.  The little miss needed a break before the final big push.  No big deal . . . I was being philosophical about the whole thing.  The kid would come when the kid was good and ready.

An hour went by . . . nothing.

Another hour went by . . . still nothing.

Another hour went by . . . and nothing.  Deafening silence.  It was now three-and-a-half hours after the last message of "an hour", and I still did not know whether or not the granddaughter had actually made her appearance.  Needless to say, I was getting a little frustrated.  So, I called home . . . got the number three child who told me that the baby had been born and that there was a picture on Instagram.  Quickly hanging up I maneuvered by phone's screen to Instagram and confirmed what I had been told . . . the granddaughter had made her appearance exactly an hour after I had received the original message.  It seems no one thought about letting me know.

I survived despite the bruised ego of being forgotten.  I was the only grandparent who was not at the hospital to welcome the newest addition to the family.  I am still the only grandparent who has not gotten to hold the granddaughter . . . I will get that opportunity later this evening.  Kind of felt left out of the loop.  I felt joy, but it was a heavy joy.

The anticipation of the granddaughter's arrival was tough on everyone, but she is now here and everyone is doing well.  She is healthy and has a full head of hair (unlike her grandpa).  I heard her cry while talking on the phone with the daughter so I know that she will be vocal.  Everyone is excited and the adventure begins . . . and, I have begun a new anticipation.  The anticipation of finally meeting the stubborn little squirt and holding her for the first time.  It will be wonderful . . . a real joy!  I am not sure I can wait that long, but I have no choice as Helena is a long way from Billings.

I admit that I do not handle waiting very well.  I know that this was worth the wait, but as much as folks knew I was anticipating this blessed event, you would have thought that they would have let me know sooner than two-and-a-half hours after the actual birth . . . would have let me know so that I did not find out on social media with the rest of the world.  Sure it tampered the joy, yet it still was exciting despite being forgotten.

I have gotten over the moping.  The sting of being forgotten does not hurt as much as it did.  I have survived . . . and, my inner voice has said, "Knock it off!" and "Grow up!" It has also said other things, but I cannot share those with anyone because I do attempt to keep this blog at least PG-rated.  There is joy . . . the family has welcomed the newest member into the clan . . . everyone is healthy . . . and, the adventure begins.  I like adventures, especially with granddaughters . . . my nearly two-year old granddaughter have adventures whenever we are together . . . now we get to double the fun.

Thus a story has been created . . . the story about how G-pa missed the birth of the granddaughter.  It will be told over and over again . . . people will laugh and say things like, "Poor John" and laugh some more.  The story will probably be told forever until the day that I die, and then probably the day they lay my body to rest . . . no one remembered to tell G-pa that the baby had arrived.  Yeah, it is a funny story . . . and, I can even smile as it is told--even now . . . but, despite the joy of the news there was a heaviness that accompanied it for me . . . it is no fun to be forgotten.  But hey, we introverts are used to it despite the hurt we feel.

Right now, all I can honestly say is that my daughter and son-in-law sure do create some beautiful babies.  We are all blessed to welcome the newest addition to the family . . . in a tale of forgetfulness a story was born that will never be forgotten.  It will never be forgotten just like the newest granddaughter . . . it is joy!  

Grandpa Is Getting Old

I’m getting too old for this stuff . . .

This weekend the wife and I are babysitting our 14-month old granddaughter as her mother and father attend a wedding in the big city.  It was with great exuberance that the wife and I volunteered to take on this duty . . . we wanted to watch her.  We wanted to watch her in all of her non-ending youthfulness, non-ending energy, constantly walking, constantly wandering away, constantly getting into stuff . . . never wanting to take a nap . . . never wanting to go to sleep . . . and, constantly wanting to be noticed; yeah, we wanted to watch her . . . and, after one day we are wondering what we were thinking!!  We are getting too old for this stuff and she isn’t even a teenager yet!!

Now, don’t get me wrong . . . my granddaughter is the coolest and best thing that has ever happened.  I miss the punk when I don’t get to see her at least once a week . . . which probably prompted the wife and I into volunteering to watch the kiddo this weekend.  The kids moved to another big city in Montana a couple of hours away a few weeks ago.  I had not seen the kid since they moved . . . I was having granddaughter withdrawal.  So we volunteered . . . and, the adventure began.

The day began bright and early as we all heading off to the mountains to do a little “moosing”.  Moosing, for those of you who do not know what I am referring to, is cruising the back roads looking for moose.  To properly do “moosing” one has to get up very, very early . . . on the road by 6:00AM.  Without a complaint or even a whimper, the granddaughter joined us adults for a early morning of moose hunting.  She was a real trooper even though she was stuck in her car seat for a couple of hours . . . the reward was that we saw seven moose.  We saw three sets of momma moose and their children, and we saw one bull moose.  Unfortunately, at 14-months of age, the granddaughter will never remember any of it!

After a couple of hours of moosing, we headed to breakfast at one of the wife’s favorite eating establishment.  There the granddaughter was a blast.  Grabbing everything and anything . . . babbling away . . . flirting with people at other tables . . . and, demanding to taste everything that was on the table.  Constant energy . . . constant motion . . . and, constant noise.  I loved it!!  Who doesn’t like being with the cutest person in the room?

From there we decided to do a little walking around town . . . do a little shopping . . . after all, the acorn doesn’t fall far from the tree, and daughter and wife seemed to think there was a need to do a little shopping.  Fourteen month olds really don’t care much for shopping.  Fourteen month olds want to explore . . . search and destroy . . . go on what they think are Indian Jone’s adventure worthy of the silver screen.  The granddaughter was up to the task . . . we walked around countless stores . . . we tested the limits of a lot of store owners . . . tested the limits of Grandpa.  The punk must have walked a couple of miles!  The rest, Grandpa carried her.  Needless to say, even though she is quite petite, Grandpa got tired.

We walked the streets . . . we petted dogs . . . we looked in windows . . . sat on park benches . . . wandered the aisles of every store within a hundred miles . . . danced.  Yeah, I said, dance.  This granddaughter likes to dance . . . she likes to boogey.  Doesn’t matter the music, when the spirit hits her to dance, she dances.  Of course my dancing is not much better than my singing . . . but, being a grandparent cuts a person a little slack . . . people expect grandparents to act like idiots.  I need a granddaughter thirty years ago!! 

Again, I was tired.  She wore me out . . . she wore her parents out.  But, they were lucky as they were heading out and going to a wedding rehearsal.  A tear entered my eye as they pulled away from the house . . . what had we gotten ourselves into!!  A 14-month old and a nearly elderly couple . . . someone was going to lose in the end.

From the time that our granddaughter’s parents left she was a constant blur of activity.  She was a ball of energy . . . constantly moving energy.  Her grandparents, unfortunately, were not . . . we were more like the immovable blobs that wanted to sit on the couch and reminiscence about the good old days when we just sat there and held our granddaughter.  It was low energy, low impact. 

I do want you to know, there were chinks in the granddaughter’s armor.  She did start to get tired . . . which meant she got grumpy . . . but we were under strict orders to not let her sleep until her bedtime at seven o’clock.  That was nearly four hours away when the parents left . . . the wife didn’t make it.  She crashed in her recliner for a “ten-minute” nap that lasted nearly an hour . . . much to my horror!  I did a whole lot of walking around the yard and house with the granddaughter . . . we picked grandma’s flowers . . . walked up and down steps . . . danced in front of the bedroom mirrors . . . ate a lot of Cheerios . . . and, basically wore Grandpa out.  It was then that Grandpa decided that he was getting too old for this stuff.

Yet, we survived.  The granddaughter has now been asleep for over two hours . . . sawing logs.  Grandma has already hit the sack.  Grandpa is drinking beer, writing a blog, and wondering how in the world he is ever going to survive tomorrow when Grandma goes grocery shopping for a few hours, leaving him alone with the granddaughter.  He is not sure, but . . . he will survive.  He always survives to see his granddaughter another day.

At the end of a day with the granddaughter there is exhaustion.  Yeah, this exhaustion manifests itself physically in my body, but it is a “good” sort of exhaustion.  I love my granddaughter.  I love her 14-month old sense of adventure and wonder.  I love her goofiness.  I love her dancing.  I love her babbling.  I love holding her in my arms as she clings to hang on.  I love her “honking” my nose.  I love her sharing her food with the dogs.  I love her constant motion.  I love her laughter . . . and, I even love her tears.  She is a hoot . . . the best hoot I ever get.  She reminds me what it means to live life to its fullest . . . because she does each and every moment she is awake.  Yeah, it is exhausting, but it is a good exhaustion no matter what age one might be . . . it is life lived with joy.

My granddaughter is a blessing.  I thank God each and every day for this blessing.  I am not too old, she is too young . . . but the blessings are numerous . . . too numerous to count.  She makes me smile . . . she makes me laugh . . . she makes me sing . . . she makes me dance, but most of all she makes me feel loved.  No matter how old I get, I will never get enough of that sort of stuff.

Buy Me Some Peanuts and . . .

Take me out to the ball game

Take me out with the crowd

Buy me some peanuts and crackerjacks

I don't care if I never get back

Let me root, root, root

For the home team

If they don't win it's a shame

For it's one,

Two,

Three strikes you're out

At the old ball game

I love baseball.  It has been a joy to live in an area where I have the opportunity to watch America’s pastime each summer.  With the Billings Mustangs—the Cincinnati Reds rookie team in the Pioneer League--located here, I get to see quite a few games between June and August the past four summers.  And, I have enjoyed every one of the games . . . but now I enjoy them even more.

You have not experienced a baseball game until to attend one with a nearly year old granddaughter.  This summer I have had the opportunity to attend two games with the granddaughter and baseball has never been the same.  Baseball with a nearly one-year-old is an adventure!

First thing anyone needs to know about baseball and one-year-olds is that you do not watch too much baseball.  Little kids at that age don’t have the attention span to watch a baseball game beyond the first pitch.  Little kids that age are easily distracted by anything and everything around them . . . especially other people.  Little kids that age don’t sit still . . . they wiggle, squirm, sway, clap, grab, jump, and dance.  Little kids that age scream . . . or say, “Mama” or “Dada” a lot . . . or just make noises . . . not so much to communicate, but to hear themselves.  Little kids that age seem like bottomless pits . . . constantly wanting food or something to drink.  Shoot!  It is like going to a baseball game with a teenager . . . only in a smaller package.

Second thing about going to a baseball game with a nearly one-year-old is that a person can do it alone . . . it takes an army.  We have nicknamed our granddaughter “Cracker Jacks” as she gets passed around a lot at the ballgames.  She goes from Mama to Nana to Daddy to Grandpa back to Nana to Mama to Daddy to Grandpa . . . over and over and over again.  Remember, nearly one-year-olds have the attention span of gnat, easily get bored, and are constantly moving.  It is the only way to keep her entertained and happy because if the granddaughter ain’t happy, ain’t going to be anyone happy within three sections of the stadium.  It is best to keep the granddaughter happy.

Which brings us to the third thing . . . lots of walking.  Since the granddaughter has started going to baseball games, I do a lot more walking during the game . . . usually around and around the stadium . . . but, hey, I’m getting my exercise.  The walking is because the granddaughter can no longer be content, is getting unhappy, and is warming up the vocal chords to let everyone know.  To avoid a complete meltdown, Grandpa walks the child.  I scoop her up and we take a grand tour of the stadium.  I think that this is one of the highlights of the game for me . . . it is amazing how many compliments one gets when his or her granddaughter is cute.  Good for the self-esteem.

So, around and around we go.  I point out the important things she needs to learn.  I show her where the bouncing hut is for when she gets older . . . I point out where the restrooms are for when she gets beyond the diaper stage . . . show her where the concession stands are . . . where the gift shop is . . . I even show her the field in case she ever wants to actually watch the game . . . I introduce her Homer Mustang—the team mascot—which scares her more than entertains her.  I can understand where she is coming from . . . it is not every day that one encounters a great big stuffed animal walking around the ball park scaring little kids.  All the while she points, hugs, coos, babbles, hugs some more, and hangs on for the ride.

I don’t get to watch much baseball when the granddaughter comes along. But, that is okay.  That is okay because I remember another little girl who I used to drag to baseball games . . . she was a lot like the granddaughter. I remember taking a lot of walks around the stadium with her too.  Her short-term nickname was “Cracker Jack” as she got passed around a lot between her mother and I.  She grew to have a great appreciation and love for baseball in time . . . and, she loves to go to the games.  She grew to be a beautiful young woman who—with her husband’s help—graced our lives with a granddaughter . . . a granddaughter we drag to the games.  In time she will hopefully come to love the game as much as her grandpa and mother do. 

It is a mere inconvenience for the time being to sacrifice a few games to share my love with the newest member of the family . . . besides, they always put the results in the newspaper the next day.  Even though I am at the games and don’t get to see much of them, I don’t miss them that much.  I have discovered something better . . . time with my granddaughter sharing the moment with one another.  It isn’t so much about the game as it is the moment of being in one another’s presence.  The games will come and go, but these moments with my granddaughter only happen once . . . I cherish them.  As the credit card commercial states, “Priceless!”  It took my granddaughter to show me what was important about a ball game . . . the people.  Of course, I like my peanuts and Cracker Jacks . . . even the newest “Cracker Jack”—my granddaughter.  In those moments . . . “I don’t care if I ever get back” . . .

Chip Off the Ol’ Block

I should have known . . . after all, her grandmother and I each had something to do with creating her mother. According to science, a little bit of each of our DNA mingled together to create her mother and make her who she is today.  So, I imagine a little bit of the two of us have made it into our granddaughter.  With the holiday season upon us we have been graced with our daughter, son-in-law, and granddaughter being home for the holidays to visit all of her family on both sides.  It is a sort of “coming out” party for the granddaughter . . . a great big party that I have been thoroughly enjoying . . . the kid is a chip off the ol’ block.

My granddaughter and I have a special bond.  I see a lot of me in her . . . and, that could be saying a lot or it could be scary—time will tell.  But, in the two-and-a-half days that I have had the privilege of being with her, I have noticed that we have a lot of the same tendencies and mannerisms.

First of all, we have the same hair . . . at least for the time being.  We are both bald.  Fortunately for her she will eventually grow hair, while her grandfather will continue to lose hair.  For now, though, we share the chrome dome look, and I have to admit, it looks a whole lot better on her than it does me.

Second, we both like our bottles.  She likes hers with milk, and I like mine with beer.  We both have an affinity for bottles.  Neither one of us likes it when people mess with our bottles . . . bottles are sacred.  Whenever someone attempts to take our bottles before we are finished we both throw a hissy-fit.  It isn’t pretty.  But, it seems to be more acceptable coming from a nearly five month old child than a nearly 55 year old adult.  Either way, don’t mess with our bottles.

Third, we both get grumpy when we are tired.  She wears her grumpiness much better than I do.  Where I am sarcastic, she is just whiny and teary.  The granddaughter is at that age where her grumpiness comes from a desperate need to take in everything around her . . . the world is new to her and it fascinates her . . . she doesn’t want to miss anything.  So, she fights falling to sleep.  Her grandpa, on the other hand, just gets grumpy . . . then whiny . . . then teary eyed.  No one thinks it is cute from a middle-aged man, but everyone loves it when the granddaughter does it. 

We both like to babble and make noises.  The granddaughter is discovering her voice and loves to hear herself.  Me, well, let’s just say that it is a good thing that the granddaughter has arrived . . . I can now get away with babbling and making noises without people staring at me like I have lost my mind.  But, it only works when I am with the granddaughter.  It seems that it is socially acceptable for adults to babbling and make noises when they are with a small child.  At other times . . . well, let’s just say one gets a lot of weird stares.  With my granddaughter in tow, I can be as weird as I want to be and no one cares.

I want to thank my daughter and son-in-law in cooperatively bringing this unique, beautiful child into the lives of my wife and I.  The granddaughter is a chip off the ol’ block right now.  She and I have a lot in common that we seem to enjoy sharing.  We are developing a pretty special bond and that is way cool.  We seem to truly enjoy one another’s presence in each other’s life.  Not bad for the first five months . . . the goal is to make those bonds grown deeper and deeper as the years go by.  We may not always have these commonalities as we get older, but we will have each other.  This has been one of the nicest Christmas gifts I have ever received.  The granddaughter is pretty special in her grandpa’s eyes . . . and, grandpa hopes he is in her eyes too.  In the years to come, I am banking on it . . . after all, she is a chip off the ol’ block.

Chain of Grace

“A chain is a series of connected links which are typically made of metal. A chain may consist of two or more links.”

A simple definition . . . a series of connected links.  I think that we sometimes forget how “linked” of “connected” we human beings truly are to one another.  I have been thinking about this lately with the birth of our first grandchild—a granddaughter—to our oldest child.  In a world in which “political correctness” is pounded into us, our first granddaughter was not born into a politically correct scenario.   Though the scenario was not politically corrected it is not one that is unfamiliar to any generation—the granddaughter was born out of wedlock.  This is no big issue for the wife or I as there seem to be bigger issues to tackle and deal with than that.  Our granddaughter is flesh and blood . . . a child of God . . . who has come partly out of our own blood . . . that is good enough for us.  But this is not a blog about that, this is a blog about “chains” . . . which I have been thinking about lately.

 A chain is a series of “connected links”.  With the birth of our first grandchild the chain has been lengthen—not by one, but by many.  This past weekend the wife and I had the opportunity to meet our granddaughter and her mother about six weeks after her birth.  We also had the opportunity to see our son—the “prodigal”—after nearly a year.  It was an adventure for us as we got to step into a world that is not quite like the one in which we exist—it wasn’t bad, it was just different.  We had the opportunity to meet our son’s roommates and friends.  We had the opportunity to experience our son in his space.  With each person we were introduced to and got to be with that chain expanded.  The world we thought we lived in was actually quite larger than we ever thought.

 Central to that world was our granddaughter . . . what a beauty!  Of course, I might be bias, but she is a cutie!  Around this itty-bitty child is a circle of grace.  That circle begins with her immediate family—her mother and father who love her very much.  It expands out to include her three sisters who will be her adversaries and advocates through the journey of life.  It includes her grandparents, aunts and uncles, cousins, and who knows who else.  This little girl has a lot of people who love her and pull for her each and every day.  The chain only grows longer . . . and the wife and I are excited with each link that is added to the chain.  As I said, it is an adventure!

And, the adventure was fun.  It was a joy to be able to hold our granddaughter in my arms and to listen to her breathe.  It was a joy to watch her squirm and wiggle in my arms . . . making all of those baby faces.  It was a joy to hear the love in her mother’s voice as she described life with the granddaughter, but more importantly it was a joy to hear how much she loved her girls and what a responsibility it is to be the caretaker of four precious lives.  It was a joy to watch our oldest son blubber in the presence of his daughter . . . to see the joy that bubbled forth from him as he held her in his arms.  It was a joy to see the wife melt in the presence of this itty-bitty bundle of baby . . . the smile was priceless.  And, it was a joy to see the youngest son hold his niece and never once flinch . . . it was love at first sight.  It was good to be in the presence of the newest link to the chain.

 This “chain” that I speak of is not a chain of metal . . . it is a chain made of something that the hands cannot touch . . . it is a “chain of grace”.  It is a “chain of love”.  It did not begin simply, it began and remains complicated, but through it all is grace and love.  Those who never knew of each other are now connected and the journey of trust and love has begun.  It is grace that will holds it all together.  In the days, months, and years to come there is a lot of work to be done.  Getting to know one another . . . getting to understand one another . . . trusting one another . . . believing in one another.  It is not as simple as one believes . . . it takes grace.  A big group of people—strangers—have been pooled together to raise a child.  Holding it all together is grace . . . and love.  It keeps the chain from falling apart.

Is it no wonder that I have been thinking about “chains”?

In the days, months, and years to come I pray for the grace and love that holds the chain together.  I pray for each and every link—Mom and Dad, sisters, aunts, uncles, grandparents, and great-grandparents.  I pray for friends and family that step in and link up.  I pray for God’s traveling mercies in this journey.  But most of all I pray for God’s grace and love to sustain the chain and that we—the links—embrace it.  To say the least, I think I am a little smitten . . . not only with the “chain of grace” but with the links that make it whole.  It is holy.