They’ve all gone home now.
The children.
I survey the clutter of toys, the breakfast dishes piled high and the books tossed haphazardly on the couch. I notice my Ipad needs to be charged and the cookie jar is empty.
I decide to sit on the steps awhile and think about things before I begin any kind of clean up.
The sun is warm on my face, but there are signs all around me that summer is fading. Still, for today at least, it is here, warm, fragrant and lovely.
I glance at my flowers who have poked their cheery heads out as if to feel the rays of the sun for as long as they can, just like myself.
The end of summer brings with it certain feelings of nostalgia and even though September marks a time of new beginnings, I feel like I want to hang onto these wonderful summer moments for just awhile yet.
Keeping my back to the mess and clutter in the house, I let the sun caress my face, wishing momentarily I had slathered on some sunscreen, but I didn’t, so I simply allow myself to smile.
For me, it has been a summer filled with so many happy moments, non the least of which has happened in the last couple of days with the arrival of three little grandsons.
The children who filled my home with their boyish rough and tumble ways reminded me, quite delightfully actually, that being a grandma isn’t all about being gentle and wise and having the cookie jar full.
The boys arrived just after lunch, spilling out of their van the moment it pulled up to the driveway. They raced across the lawn, immediately engulfing me in huge bear hugs.
So blue were their eyes, I felt like I could drown in them, and the sound of their boyish laughter warmed me even more so than the sun itself.
Almost immediately upon their arrival, we headed out again, straight to the ice cream shop, a luxury I seldom divulge in, unless I have at least one child with me.
It seems like an unwritten rule, somehow.
From there we trooped on down to the go carts and bumper cars and my momentary elation at being with my little charges gave way to fear.
“Oh my goodness, those go carts go quickly,” I think, somewhat alarmed at the thought of any one of the three boys actually riding on them.
As it turned out they were all too short to even be allowed to buy a ticket.
My sigh of relief was short lived, however, as I found myself carefully strapped into a bumper car by some young attendant who smiled knowingly at me and said, “it will be fun,”
My youngest grandson was perched between my legs, also strapped in. He seemed totally confident that it would, indeed, be fun. I struggled to figure out to make the thing go ahead, backwards and twirl around, but it was too late.
I looked up and there, headed straight for us, was trouble in the form of another bumper car being driven by a young man who seemed to forget I was his grandma.
He rammed us, erupting into peals of laughter.
By the time I got the hang of the thing, the ride was over, but the boys, still laughing and exuberant, wanted to do it again.
Oh my goodness, I think. “Again!”
I decide to toss any shred of grandma dignity I had left to the wind and say, “sure, why not?”
Finally we arrive home and the boys devour their supper the only way growing boys know how to eat.
With great gusto.
And then they asked for more.
Finally they are all tucked into bed and it doesn’t take long for me to follow.
That bumper car ride really did me in.
But now they are all gone and I’m back to being me and living in an adult world where things stay neat and orderly and I don’t visit the ice cream shop or, heaven forbid, ride the bumper cars.
I sigh and check my calendar to see when they can come back.
I miss them, already!
Treena Mielke is the editor of the Rimbey Review. She lives in Sylvan Lake.