Recovering

   The Husband and I spent today in recovery mode. We had the whirlwind-tornado-toddler, otherwise known as Little One, spend the night last night. It was The Daughter and The Son-in-Law's sixth wedding anniversary and they wanted to go out for a nice dinner and then sleep in. Fancy that. In the meantime, I was up with Little One at 5:15 am on a Sunday morning. It was so early I could barely read the clock. But she called my name. And then she called me again. What's a grandmother to do? Duh. The obvious. You go and get the child. She didn't call her Mommy or her Daddy or her Pappy, she called ME, and I came running. You are thinking what a sucker. And you would be right. I am. No excuses necessary.
    When I told The Daughter what time Little One got up this morning, she harrumphed and told me, "Not me." Maybe. Maybe not. But she calls your name everyday. It's not everyday that I wake up to a little voice calling,  "Nonna, Nonna, puhwease (please) Nonna" over and over again.
     Little One and I magnanimously gave Pappy the great privilege of sleeping in until 6:40 am before we came downstairs to get him up. He did not totally appreciate the fact that we had already been up an hour and a half. But I kept telling him over and over again, so I think he finally got my drift. By ten o'clock when her parents arrived, I was ready to go back to bed. The three of us had eaten breakfast, read numerous books, colored in coloring books, played with chalk on the driveway, gone to get the paper, taken the neighbors their paper, played on the porch, taken another walk, watched approximately 8 whole minutes of television, played the toy guitar, played with the piano, and played with the dog. I was played out and counting the minutes until The Daughter and Son-in-Law arrived to pick her up. When they arrived, I immediately noticed that they looked marvelously refreshed and rested. I am so glad.
    I happened to walk by a mirror after they left and nearly screamed. Some harried and exhausted woman with unbrushed teeth, uncombed hair, and an unwashed face glared back at me. It was nearly time for lunch but I was taking to my bed. The other grandmothers in the family look better than I do and have more energy, better joints, and more stamina. But Little One woke up this morning and called MY NAME. I will gladly do it again. I think. But I will have to recover a bit more first.

Here's The Daughter and Son-in-Law at their wedding six years ago. 

And here's Pappy and Little One coloring on the back porch.


There are no pictures of me. Need I say more?