As a kid, I honestly thought I’d never pray when I grew up. There was no need, and I was already up to my eyeballs in prayers. After we lost Larry, Dad had a transformation. He accepted Jesus as his Savior, and just as suddenly, his, Mom’s and my life changed. Every facet of Dad’s life now included how to better serve the Lord. Reflecting back, it was quite amazing to witness how different Dad patterned his life after giving it to Jesus. Though I was only 8 years old, it was impossible not to notice.

Dad taught Shannon how to pray by age 2, 1972…

One of the most noticeable changes for me was at the supper table. We always ate together and talked about what happened throughout the day, but much of that stopped after Larry died. Small talk seemed unimportant. In their grief, Mom and Dad remained quiet during meals, and it was up to me to keep the conversation going while we ate. But it was the before and after meal time that really took a 180 in our house.

Dad prayed aloud before we ate. After we were through eating, he’d read us a chapter or 2 from the bible, then pray again. This after supper prayer was much like Oral Roberts prayers at one of his healing Revivals during the 60’s. Or the long prayer after the sermon at my Christian Reformed Church as a kid. And I do mean LONG. At our supper table my mind would wander until I heard the words, “this we ask in Jesus’ name, who taught us, Our Father who art in heaven.” And we’d recite the Lord’s prayer together. Back then we always said, “forgive us our debts, as we forgive our debtors,” like they did in church. The recent churches I’ve attended say, “forgive us our trespasses, as we forgive those who trespass against us.” Still, doesn’t sound right to me.

I’ve not been a good sleeper for 20 years. If it’s a work day, my phone alarm is set to an oddball time. I like sequential numbers, so if I have to work at 7, the alarm is set for 4:56. If I have to be there at 6:30, I set it for 4:32. I’m weird, you already know that. The point is, my alarm goes off once about once a month. I’m almost always awake before it goes off. As I start rubbing my eyes, I thank God for letting me wake up for another day here on earth. He’s not done with me yet and I’m grateful. Ah, the legs are working fine, no pain in the knee and I gotta pee. More reasons to give thanks. I pad my way into the kitchen, flip on the coffeemaker, stop in the spare bedroom for my work clothes and bath towel. Cautiously move to our beautiful bathroom and close my eyes halfway. No, not prayers this time. My only mistake in our complete bathroom remodel. There’s a pretty light fixture above the medicine cabinet, plus a light/exhaust on the ceiling. Both lights go on with the flip of one switch, the exhaust fan is separate. I should have asked the contractor for separate switches for each light. It’s just way too bright at 5 a.m. It takes me a minute to adjust. My step in shower is awesome and I squeegy every square inch of the tile and shower doors I can reach when I’m done.

Dad & me in our one trip camper, prayers included, 1962…

I may think it’s keen to wake up before the crack of dawn, but I’m not completely sold on the idea of showering, getting dressed and heading out the door before it’s light. I like getting up, but not necessarily having to be anywhere that early. But I like my hours and prefer getting home by 1:30. A quick prayer (grant me patience Lord) before I walk in the infant room. Very little noise (so far), only 1 or 2 tiny tots. Basically, I ooze patience with the babies. Only time I get a little flustered occurs sometime around noon. Most everyone is hungry and hangry. The noise level is up a couple of notches, the 4 high chairs are full, the younger babies all want their bottles RIGHT NOW. Add a blow out diaper, spit up on the floor, a ding on someone’s head from a rattle, and for a couple minutes, the bottle babies have to wait. None of these little stinkers prayed for patience before Mommy lugged them in the door. I asked.

Dad, Mom, me & pregnant Mona in Canton, SD, 1961…

There’s a strange phenomenon that happens almost daily in the baby room. We call it ‘happy hour,’ though no margaritas are served. Bummer. Sometime during the day, when you least expect it, the room goes completely silent. The babies seem to realize this before we do. They glance around a bit befuddled, a tad anxious. Each one looks accusingly at the tot next to them with this, “what’s up with you? Isn’t it your turn to crank up the noise quotient? Hey you, time to take one for the team!” We’ve timed this over a month period and on average, our heavenly quiet time lasts about 28.3 seconds, (every stinking second, very precious), give or take a errant squawk. We never know when this is going to happen, there’s never any warning, and I find myself devastated if it’s after I’ve gone home. How could they betray me like this?

Looking good Dad, 1973…

Just as amazing is how much adult conversation can be squeezed into 28.3 seconds. You’d think we’d enjoy the silence, and we do, but even more rare is conversation that’s not above 3 babies crying. Those are a combination of written notes, sign language, and reading of lips. During happy hour one day last week, I was recalling the month of April last year. I could hardly walk, my left knee had a goose egg size lump, the cause had not been determined. If that wasn’t bad enough, I had pneumonia, a first for me. I believe it took 5 office visits, 4 prescriptions, breathing treatments, and 6 weeks to stop sounding like Myron Floren’s accordion on Lawrence Welk. The cough, even longer. That’s about the sickest I’ve ever been. So a quick prayer of thanks for my good health of late.

Dad reading a story book to Shannon 2, 1972…

We don’t wear street shoes in the infant room. Just not a good idea. Some of the gals go barefoot, most wear socks or slippers. I bought a pair of soft Sketchers and just leave them in the baby room. So my shoes are on the outside by the door, going into the hallway. After I punch out, slip off my room shoes, close the door, my prayer is one of many thanks for a great day with the babies. Nobody got hurt on my watch. A good day indeed.

Dad, Joshua & Shannon in RV, 1976…

We are a family of drivers. John and I not so much anymore, but the rest of the clan spend a good deal of time in their cars. On I 94. Busy, busy with gobs of semi’s. Thoughout the day, I’m asking God for traveling mercies. Next on my list of worries is someone getting seriously ill. Me, Hubs or a family member. Thankfully, we’ve been very blessed with good health. That prayer usually comes before I fall asleep. So this recent acknowledgement of my daily prayers. How often I talk to God. Really kind of blows me away. Pretty sure it has a lot to do with my age and increasing faith and acceptance of what comes next. I hope I’m not judged by the quantity and length of my prayers like Dad’s or I’m royally screwed. But rather, the frequency and sincerity of our short conversations together during the day. Then I’m in like Flint. Sorry God, I believe this might be considered ‘spuuting’ (Dutch slang for making light or fun of religion and God)…

Think I might be near the finish line resolving an issue that’s been bothering me for 5 years. Quite an amazing feat since my list of irritants rambles on like the side effects of the latest and greatest drug commercial. Twenty seconds how this new wonder drug will cure everything that ails you. Followed by 90 seconds of stern warnings: buyer beware, taking this medication may cause deep depression-or worse. Yikes.

Someone actually got a picture of me by Lake Michigan…

Around 2012, my beloved job as Parish Visitor (visiting the homebound, nursing homes, and assisted living facilities) was starting to taking a toll. The deaths of these dear folks were mounting faster than I could grieve and process them, averaging about one a month. Top it off, I was working for a less than ideal boss, the 4th in a row. Let’s just leave it at that. There might be some issues I’ve yet to work through, but this is progress. See, I’m making great strides.

Charlie & Opal, a couple I visited for years…

John had retired a couple of years before, and I was ready to join the ranks. But that decision brought more questions than answers. The rest of our family were grouped near the eastern side of the state, but Hubs and I were on the west coast of Michigan. In a 2 story home, on a lake. In essence, our house was the only thing holding us there. Easy-peasy, sell the house and move closer to the kids. Hold on there little doggie. This is where the irritant became a full-fledged allergic reaction. Our nice house, on a cool lake, in a snooty town, would not sell.

Three long years. 3. I still don’t know why. We had serious lookers, offers, but deals fell through. After a 6 month hiccup with an awful realtor, we hired Mary Jamison, a go-getter extroadinaire. Can’t fault her for one solitary thing, yet it took 2 more years to find the right buyer. During this time, I grew to hate the house. The nicest house I’ve ever lived in or owned. No longer enjoyed the lake view, the town or area. I just didn’t want to be there anymore. But I was stuck. And miserable.

You remember the story about the gal I grew really close to after her husband passed away in 2005? It’s called, The Name Game, March 2015, if you want to read it, but here’s a short recap. Kent (his real name was Raymond) finally got released from a long stint in a local hospital. The preacher and chaplain visited him there regularly, but when he got home, he was added to my parish visitor list. I was shocked to meet him and his wife Joann, (her real name-Marilyn) because they weren’t much older than me! Sometimes you have a special connection with certain folks, Kent was one of mine. After Kent passed away, Joann and I became really close friends. We both are positive Kent was pleased and proud to be the conduit bringing us together. Jo (not enough to be Joann, alias-Marilyn, then I had to go and shorten her name) and I met 2 or 3 times a week, most often for breakfast, sometimes lunch. She had been Kent’s caregiver for several years and her grief was enormous after 47 years of marriage.

Raymond alias Kent in his prime…

Jo and I met at eating places near my visiting area for the day. Chili’s, Bob Evans, Steak ‘N Egger, Toast ‘N Jams, or we’d pick up Jimmy Johns sandwiches, head down to the Ovals. Watch Lake Michigan waves, one of my favorite things to do. Pretty much became regulars at these restaurants. We frequented Chili’s and Toast ‘N Jams most often because the bulk of folks I visited were in this neighborhood, so we got to know the staff.

I have not gone back very often since we moved away. I was so happy to finish that chapter, that whole section of my life still tasted very bitter. I am able to hold a grudge, real or imagined for eternity it seems. It surely was not the fault of a house, small town, or large area that caused my house to stall when trying to sell. Yet somehow I blamed all 3 for exactly that. Put them in my dislike box.

Hubs was heading up north for the weekend about a month ago. I was planning on taking a Saturday class at Baker College on caregiving for infants. But I procrastinated too long. I called the day before the deadline, but the gal in charge was off. I left a message, stating my class preferences. She, in turn left a message for me the following day. Sorry, the class is already full, try again next year. Shoot. I decided if Jo was not busy for the weekend, I’d go to Muskegon for a visit.

A gorgeous view, but not missing it…

Jo did not have plans and seemed thrilled at the prospect of a weekend freeloader. (She’s really a wonderful friend). I was leaving after work, and needed to stop in Grand Rapids on the way to Muskegon, so warned her it would be at least 7 before I’d show up. If that was too late to go out for supper together, I was fine with stopping somewhere for a quick sandwich, but she assured me it would be great to get a pizza somewhere after I got to town. The destination causing this hold up? Vander Veen’s Dutch Store. Since it’s Dutch, definitely not open on Sunday, the only other time I would be driving through Grand Rapids. A neat little gem of a store. The walls are loaded with Blue Delft pieces, open weaved laces, and bold colored tulip and windmill themed dish towels. Dutch peppermints, licorce, milk chocolate letters, and bobalars line the shelves. Dried beef, assorted meats, cheeses in the meat case. A small stand alone freezer with Almond Patties and Pigs in the Blanket from Casey’s Bakery in Sioux Center, Iowa! Huh? I’ve lived in Michigan 30 years and discovered this place 1 year ago. Woe is me. Look at the time (note: Almond Patties and Dried Beef) I could have been eating regularly.

These little buggers were so hard to find…

But I did not need dried beef or almond patties. The goal of this out-of-my-way-store this time was the lowly pea. Not a snow, snap, fresh, pod, sugar, black eyed, or split. I needed peas. Whole dried peas. Hubs and I were hungry for pea soup, and there was a hunk of ham in the freezer just waiting to simmer and fall off the bone. But I’d been unable to find whole dried peas. Meijer (the store usually able to fill all my baking, canning, cooking needs) only sells split dried peas. I don’t know how anyone else makes pea soup, (or if anyone else does. Not one of my kids will eat it), but in the Gerritson household when I was a kid, Mom used 1 pound of whole, dried peas that she had soaked over night. Added about 3 ounces of split peas, otherwise it got too mushy according to her.

Hard to describe the taste, but I love this hard candy…

Shannon’s answer for this dilema, “buy them online Mom.” I looked, but shipping cost 3 times more than the peas. And no, I don’t have or want Amazon prime because I hardly ever shop online. That’s why God made cars and malls. I might be too tight to pay shipping costs it would seem. So the tasty ham bone got comfy in the freezer while I figured out how and where to find whole dried peas. I was pretty sure The Dutch Store carried them. They did so I bought 6 pounds. I use 2 pounds each time. Westward-ho.

Banana Taffy, my favorite…

After hauling in my stuff from the car, Jo and I headed for Bernio’s Pizza in North Muskegon. A local pizza pub that’s gotten some national recognition for one of their signature pizzas. Neither Jo nor I have ever tried it. We aren’s very adventuresome when it comes to food. Or trying new things. Drove past my old house as it was getting dark and waited for that pang of homesickness to wave over me. That didn’t happen either. I did feel nostalgic and lonesome for a couple of my former neighbors. Pam was recently widowed and I still felt her deep hurt. And I do miss Dale and Carol. They had changed siding on their beautiful home since we moved. How I missed watching them in their yard. They love yard work, which is so not me. Hard to believe there are really people like that in the world. Religiously, diligently tend to their gorgeous perennials. Kind of like watching ‘whack a mole’ through the summer. Bam, another flower group is blooming. Bam, then another. Carol sits on the ground for hours pulling weed culprits out of her lovely groupings. Like spent cartridges flying out of an automatic gun, rat-a-tat-tat. Dale hovering behind her with the waste can picking up all the empty shells. Yup, I really miss watching and visiting them. But not my old house. OK, maybe one thing. Mary Jane just got back to Iowa after wintering in Arizona. Wrote me a note and said she and Les have been using their fireplace every night since they got back. I really miss my wood fireplace. That is all.

Saturday dawns and I’ve got an agenda. But first we hit one of our favorite breakfast spots, Steak ‘N Egger, which Jo informed me has changed hands. Seems Toast ‘N Jams bought the restaurant a few months ago, but maintains the original name. It’s early for a Saturday, about 8:30 and they’re not very busy. We are about to be shown to our booth when a familiar girl comes up to greet us. “Hi guys, it’s so great to see you again. Two over medium, 2 over hard, right? One with sausage patties, well done. Wheat toast, light butter. Two coffees and ice water, right?” For a second, Jo and I just stood there. Looking dumb. (Not as much of a stretch as you might think). It was Carrie, our old (but young) waitress from Toast ‘N Jams. She waited on us for years. She remembered our exact order, even to the point we always shared an order of sausage. Carrie’s son was in the terrible 2’s then. (Now he wants a car). Later Carrie got pregnant with her daughter, who’s now about 10. Carrie (the owner’s daughter) said she was just helping out for a couple of days, gave us each a quick hug and hurried back to her station. A couple minutes later, Carrie wandered back one more time. “You guys crack me up. You’re so cute.” (A BIG stretch) “You even sit in the booth the same way you did years ago!” Well that deserved an explanation. I always slide into a booth with my left ear (the worse one for my profound hearing loss) towards the wall, in hopes I can make out what the waitress is trying to convey on my right. Usually though I give a blank stare and my booth buddy says, “she wants to know how everything tastes?”

Oh the places we will go. McDonald’s Candy for starters. Best taffy (banana for me), Bobalars (Dutch candy, a fraction what The Dutch Store charges, for me and Shannon). Anise candy for Landon, good chocolate for Peyton, some sugar free for the Hubs. Ride around the Lake. It’s very windy, but the waves on the west side are puny. I don’t know if this area has a special name but it’s kind of in back of Dockers Restaurant and those lovely condo units. Nice whitecaps and crazy guys in wetsuits (it’s rainy, windy and cold) are wind surfing and jumping waves like lunatics. They did not venture out very deep, just kept going fast, back and forth along the shoreline. You don’t see this too often on Lake Michigan and I really enjoyed watching. Shopped at The Lakes Mall for a couple hours, then tried to squeeze in the best burger in town at The Station Grill before it got Saturday night busy. Who am I trying to kid? They’re always busy. And my downfall at The Station are their homemade Texas potato chips. We only had to wait a few minutes and the food was scrumptious! A late night of catching up on families with Jo. Soon it was Sunday morning and time for me to head back home. Toast ‘N Jams for breakfast for old times sake before I left.

One of our favorite spots to enjoy breakfast…

But it was my cute little waitress (with the amazing memory) who made my weekend and altered my negative view of my life in west Michigan for the last few years. She really ‘tipped’ the scales in a positive way. Thanks Carrie…

It’s not something I partake in often. Once Pioneer High School’s basketball season is done, I’m pretty much done too. Landon (Drew-t-t-r-o-t-w) dives head first into AAU ball (Amateur Athletic Union). A traveling basketball league located in many major cities with tournaments almost every weekend. I believe they start around 4th grade, but the group participating in the tourney’s we’ve attended are 15, 16 & 17 year olds.

Landon cleans up nicely for his emcee gig for Black History month…

Distance is one of the main reasons this grandma sits home weekends waiting for texts on how his team is faring. Ok, mostly how Landon’s doing. Money too. Those weekend jaunts are stinking expensive. Not only motels, restaurants, tourney tickets, (thanks BTW Shannon for buying ours this weekend), but most are held very far away, like California far. There are 2 however that are relatively close, one of which was this weekend in Grand Rapids. Probably 75 miles away now. So off we went Friday afternoon.

Warmups with uniform shorts that would fit Goliath. Landon is in the gray t-shirt…

Friday happened to be Peyton’s 13th birthday too. Was she thrilled to be headed for a weekend of watching her brother play endless basketball? Umm, not so much, but mom upped the ante to make it extra-special. Invited PJ’s bestie, Naydia along for a weekend of treats, swimming, shopping and late night slumber parties in the hotel. First stop was in Lansing for mile high frosted cupcakes from Gigi’s. Next Lansing Mall, then Skyzone. Supper after the first game in Grand Rapids at The Melting Pot. A fondue meal. Are you kidding me? That’s still a thing? When Shannon mentioned half these plans to me, I quickly said we were staying at a different hotel. Made me tired just thinking all they manage to squeeze in. (Besides we stayed at a Country Inns and Suites last year which is about a block from the Field House where most of the games are played). Plus the girls made a trip to Rivertown Crossing Mall. They just go and go. Then go some more.

Peyton and Tracey at daddy-daughter dance last month…

Back to basketball. The first couple of games determines where you’ll be seeded in the tourney. Landon’s whole team and coach are new to him. He’s played with most of the same kids and had the same coach for 2 years. So everything was different for him (and us). These games are pretty brutal compared to high school. Not very many fouls are called. A little bit loosey-goosey. The games are 32 minutes long, divided in halves, not quarters. With 3 minute half times. Holy Hannah, let me tell you, they play hard! The first game was a yawner, point wise, but it was kind of like watching an awkward teen couple on their first date. Starting point guard with a new team of kids and a coach who might have heard some good things about you, but really doesn’t know you. (Getting to know you, getting to know all about you). It was interesting to watch the weekend progress. How the coach and Landon became better acquainted with each other, their play style and the rest of the team.

Warmups-again…

So in a little over 40 hours Landon played 7 basketball games, starting at 7:30 Friday night. Each game takes about an hour. Thank heavens we weren’t subjected to any 10:30 p.m. games or the equally obnoxious 8 a.m. ones. Talk about brutal. None of those boys look good at 8 a.m. Not a one. Sorry Landon. (Staying up late, playing video games, goofing off, eating (grazing) constantly probably doesn’t help). Once seeding is done, the tourney starts and it’s one loss and you’re out. The Family played 3 games on Saturday, each from a couple to 4 hours apart. Won all three by about 20 points each time, Landon scoring about 15 per game, but playing more minutes every game. Ah, the coach was paying attention.

Keeping stats in my own unusual style…

The only halfway close game they played was Sunday morning. We won 56-51. Landon played the entire game and scored 18. Not his highest game total for the weekend but maybe his best game. Toss up, I guess. He had 21 points on Saturday morning and played only 22 minutes. He must be a morning person like his Gram.

Tracey was a no-show for most of the weekend. He anticipated being back in Michigan Saturday afternoon. He had a school function which included flying to New Orleans on Thursday to watch Pioneer’s orchestra perform twice on Friday. His weekend peaked when all his flights back home were canceled. Not a happy camper. He did manage to get a flight to Chicago on Sunday morning, then flew into Lansing, where he rented a car, ydrove to Grand Rapids. Just in time to watch Landon play the second half of one game, before the championship game. Which was anticlimactic. And a little bit awkward like that first game (date) Friday night.

Someone convinced John we needed T-shirts…

The championship game was between Landon’s new team, The Family and Ken, his former coach with King James Shooting Stars. Remember how disappointed I was towards the end of last year? Ken was out to lunch the whole last half. Don’t know what was going on in his life but I truly thought he was burned out and needed to retire. Obviously he didn’t and bounced back I guess. I didn’t recognize one player on Ken’s team, so everyone is new. The game wasn’t a blowout, but we were consistently staying ahead by 6 to 10 points for the most part when Landon broke his finger. Bummer. Of course he refused to come out of the game but his shooting was pretty much done. He did keep his team on that ‘even keel’ thing he does when he runs the floor. Since I’ve yet to learn any of his teammates names, I can’t tell you who the kid is, but # 11 for The Family shot the freaking lights out. The final score was 70-60. He must have had 30 points-at least.

Coach w/ trophy, Landon wearing 0 instead of #3 this season…

I’m wondering about the next tournament Gram can attend? Shannon said The Family is playing in a tourney in Detroit this year so that’s close and a must see. Plus the one in Fort Wayne. You should see the size of that field house. Has at least 8 or 10 courts. But I’m also ready for a couple weekends at home.

I’m bushed and glad to be back home. Got to gear up for a new week of a dozen babies. But the rest of the family is still going this Sunday night. Shannon’s taking Landon to the ER to have his crooked finger worked on. John’s driving Tracey to Detroit Metro to pick up his car. Naydia’s back home and Peyton’s ecstatic to be done with basketball for a few days. By game 7 she and her BFF were all out of bubbling enthusiasm. For sure…

We are SO done with this. Peyton & Naydia by Sunday afternoon…

I warned Ariana over and over. Carefully explaining the last month of pregnancy might feel 6 months long, but the second that baby girl made her appearance, life would start moving at warp speed. Still great grandma’s have a tendency to exaggerate, and Ari thought her maternity leave would last a lot longer. Ha-ha I thought, wish it would, but my whole encounter with the early years of motherhood in general went much too fast. Those years flew.

Jovi Marie, 2 months…

Ari and Josh visited the Daycare where I work, filled out paperwork and signed up Jovi. They were hoping to use daycare only 3 days a week. Josh was campaigning his bosses at U of M to work from home one day a week or change his work week to four-10 hour days in order to stay with Jovi on Monday’s. Our daughter Shannon, Jovi’s grandma (that’s still pretty weird for me to say or believe) thought she could care for Jovi most Fridays, therefore needing daycare on Tuesday, Wednesday and Thursday. Only to discover a very long waiting list in each of our rooms. It’s kind of a vicious cycle. We can only have 12 babies in our room. (Only-ha!) I believe that’s determined by our square footage. We can keep babies in our room longer than a year, but until they’re at least one year old, each baby must have their own crib to nap in. When they move to the Wonderful Ones, they sleep on tiny cots about 2 inches off the ground. And instead of our low to the ground high chairs, they eat family style, at little tables with tiny chairs. So stinking cute. And it mattered not one whit, this great grandma had absolutely no pull or got preferential treatment.

You wanna fight me???

So this vicious cycle. My boss Tracy explained it really isn’t going to get much better until the regular school year is over in our building. And I don’t know all the technical terms for the classrooms, but here’s the gist of it. When the kindergarten readiness class is moving to regular kindergarten, the 4 year olds move to readiness, the 3’s move to preschool, the 2’s to whatever that’s called, (pre-preschool?) and the Wonderful Ones move to Toddlers. Which gives openings for our babies to move to the Ones. By the end of summer there will be about 10 of our babies who will have turned 1 and should be moving. Not to worry, the waiting list to get in our room is long and every week or so some pregnant mom-to-be walks through. There seems to be no shortage of newborns clamoring to get in. Duh, we’re the best.

I love P!nk…

So the weeks of Ari-Jovi bonding non-stop were clipping right along with no real solution becoming crystal clear. Finally a call, there was an opening in the infant room. Wait for it. One. Measly. Day. A. Week. Only available day is Wednesday, so Josh and Ari grabbed it. At least they got their (Jovi’s adorable little) foot in the door. But what to do about Tuesday-Thursday? Not giving it a second thought, John under the tutelage of the great Mighty Mouse, ‘here-I-am-to-save-the-day’ pipes up and casually blurts, “I’ll take care of Jovi those 2 days a week until there’s an opening for her!” Oh, just blow me away Hubs.

It’s not that John wasn’t a great father when our kids were small. He was. He did stuff with them I had no interest in. Like carving pumpkins, dyeing Easter eggs, sledding, ice skating, fishing. Crap I was horrible at, even in my lame attempts to become a more well rounded mother at times. Never worked. But it’s been many years since Hubs really, really took care of a baby. He did spend a lot of time with Ari when she was young, but that too was 25 years ago. Still there was no hesitation and never once did he lament in the weeks leading up to Jovi-great-grandpa days, “why in heaven’s name did I ever offer to do this? What was I thinking?” Nope, never crossed his mind.

Might be a little spoiled…

In the last 20 years childcare has changed a lot. Since I started working in the infant room over a year ago, I’ve taken several classes and gone to 2 hours of instruction every month, keeping up to date with all the state licensing rules. Safe sleep, Sudden Infant Death Syndrome, mandatory reporting of any signs of abuse or neglect. Protecting and advocating for those who cannot yet protect themselves. Feeding, burping, no blankets or toys in their cribs, no sleeping anywhere but in their crib, no swaddling. The list goes on and on. All of which I rattled off at different times leading up to his first Jovi-Day. One of the toughest to wrap our heads around has been babies sleeping on their backs. Goes against everything doctors taught us 45 yeas ago when we were having babies. Would if they spit up, won’t they choke if they’re on their backs? Though I did not make him take the online class, I vividly remember and relayed the stats. In the last 20 plus years since doctors have been advocating young babies sleeping only on their backs, Sudden Infant Death Syndrome has dropped from 15 babies per thousand to 8 per thousand. Think about that for a minute. Still losing babies but the rate has dropped almost in half. Hubs the engineer, understands statistics. Ok, he was on board. Ari wrote down approximate feeding times and naps, and just as suddenly, she was heading back to work and dropping off 9 week old Jovi with her great grandpa. Normally I get Tuesday’s off which would leave John only Thursday’s for her care until I get home at 1, but work hasn’t been normal. I gave up Tuesday’s off for a few weeks, then offered to work until 3 everyday. (What was I thinking? What a difference 2 hours makes! Getting home at 3:20 instead of 1:20. Too late to start the crockpot unless we want to eat at 8 or later. Not. This is why great grandma’s don’t work full time. Yikes Louise, I was bushed).

I’ve been told there were some very serious discussions between Jovi and GG during their first couple days. # 1 on his to-do or not-do-list was waiting to poop until grandma got home. (Jovi, not GG, I think) Which the little stinker completely agreed with until the last day of week 3. Only to discover it wasn’t nearly as bad as he thought. Yet I’ve heard every detail-thrice. Dude, I get that privilege several times everyday at work. You’re preaching to the choir. And it’s not a big deal.

John always carved pumpkins with the kids, 1984…

Jovi and GG seem to have a rhythm for their days together. Watching the birdies at the feeder by the sliding glass doors. Ogling my brightly colored round glass ornaments hanging in the living room bay window. Sitting for a few minutes together in grandma’s chair in the living room so she can talk to the lamp. Yup, the lamp. It sparkles and glistens when the sun’s shining. I explained to Jovi one day after I got home. Now she realizes of course it’s sparkly, it’s Waterford.

I gotta have a boppy pillow wherever I go…

Everything has gone fairly smooth. I put a beach towel on the spare bed for a changing table. We have some incredibly useful equipment at work that we lack here at home. Time to go shopping. Bought a boppy pillow (amazing). Very helpful when otherwise Jovi would be flat on the floor. Hubs just got a new Lazy Boy recliner. Seems they spend most of their day together. In it. He holds her. She sleeps. He doesn’t eat, pee or move. Oy vey. I’ve tried to reason with both of them, sternly, this isn’t the best idea in the world. Much as she is idolized, she cannot be held 8 hours a day. Can’t happen at daycare, 12 babies, 5 caregivers. Do the math. Sometimes babies fuss for a couple minutes. There seems to be some kind of secret look (code) that passes between them, but then he nods and says, “yeah, you’re right, I’ll lay her down.” So we went shopping again. Bought a bouncy seat. Jovi’s off the ground and this is the way they watch TV together. (No screen time EVER at Daycare). They’ve tried all kinds of programs, each finding their favorites. Disney jr, Sesame Street, but for some reason The Curse of Oak Island, Gold Rush (yes, they both prefer and root for Parker in his quest for 4,000 ounces of gold this year) and lastly, ghastly, that Lame Tuna Fishing fiasco. We will fix this little flaw at a later date.

Sometimes I just need my binky. Baths are hard…

A week ago, Shannon calls to see if we are home. She has something for us. Two gifts actually. One is an extra base of Jovi’s car seat. That way when she’s at Daycare and I’m done working, I can plop her in my car and bring her to our house for a couple hours until Ari gets here. Couple of problems I’ve encountered with that scenario. How on earth do young mothers carry the baby, that heavy ass car seat, the diaper bag, plus my stuff? I guess ‘young’ is the biggest part I lack. I can’t believe how heavy the car seat is with Jovi in it. Honestly I’d have to stop 2 or 3 times, making my way through the parking lot. I’ve never parked close wherever I’ve worked. So I first brought out the diaper bag, lunch bag, left over bottles, everything but the seat and kid. Moved my car as close to the back door as possible. This is not a popular time of day so I shouldn’t get in trouble. Kids are still in school, moms are still working. By this time, my coworker, Sabrina has Jovi snugged up in her car seat. She just had her first grandson and actually takes him places. By herself. Of course she’s 38. Another great gal, Ninfa gets out of work the same time as I do, scoops up the carrier with Jovi like it weighs a couple of pounds. Out the door, into my nearby car, and snaps it into the base. Voila! Jovi did manage to remind great grandma it was past her lunch time and her ‘binky’ was in my coat pocket. About a dozen times for the 4 mile trip. Sorry Jovi, I’m learning. And I’m slow. And old.

The second gift Shannon lugged in was a Pack N Play. Awesome combination play pen, portable crib. On 2 levels. While Jovi is little, we can use ‘the top floor’ of the play pen. Like the highest level of a crib. Easier to pick her up without bending down to the floor. As she gets bigger, we will use the lower setting. The Pack N Play however is the approximate size of our living room. A slight exaggeration. I guess there is still room to walk around. Sideways. With my gut sucked in. Shannon realized this too. She handed her father a business card. An architect’s blueprints for us. A ‘Jovi room’ will be added soon. Kidding, but the house has gotten cozy with all her paraphernalia setting around. Makes me smile. Wouldn’t change a thing. Except maybe slow down time for a bit.

Got my last surprise for the week. I had just gotten home from work and was rocking Jovi while she carried on a rousing conversation with the Waterford lamp. Grandpa finally had his chance to use the bathroom, eat some lunch, and go out for the mail. A package for me. I hadn’t ordered anything. Inside was a beautiful, handmade, soft, flannel baby blanket. Crocheted pink edging. From my friend, Janice Stellingwerf who grew up in Rock Valley with me. She does not know Ariana, never met her and probably won’t. Has never laid eyes on adorable little Jovi either. But took the time out of her busy schedule to handcraft an heirloom for me, Ari and Jovi. I was stunned. Didn’t unwrap the blanket cause I wanted Ari to have that honor. When Ariana walked in, I handed the blanket to her. Explained who Janice is. Ari started to cry. What in the world makes people do such extraordinary things? For people they don’t even know? There are really no words. Thanks so much Jan. From great grandma, mommy and gorgeous little blanket lover, Jovi…

I loves my new blankie and Michigan State…