Two of my granddaughters are here for the next four days.
One is almost five-years-old and the other is almost two-years-old.
It is delightful to have them here.
It is wonderful to see the world from their eyes.

I have said those words before but now they have a different meaning for me.

My oldest daughter came over to see them and brought the girls outside for a bit.
It was helpful to me because it enabled me to make dinner.
I was in the kitchen cooking and getting ready to feed all of us.
I gathered things that needed to go into recycling.

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I remember the assignment.
I remember working at the kitchen table.
I remember reading it to my mother, whose reaction was one of delighted surprise.
You’re a writer, she said confidently.

If confidence could be caught like a germ, I caught it that day.
To have someone believe in your ability, and express it in no uncertain terms, is a gift.
I enjoyed the writing part of the assignment.
I did not like the artistic part of the task.

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The whole family was home to celebrate our oldest daughter’s birthday.
All the bedrooms were full.
A pack and play had to be put into our walk-in closet so our littlest grandson could nap.
The crib was occupied by our almost two-year-old granddaughter, who was also napping.

It was a full weekend.
Lots of conversations, laughter, walks around the neighborhood, and meals together.
Nieces and nephews were celebrating with abandon, as only children can do.
The refrigerator was full when the weekend began.

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I do something which my husband does not understand.
I can tell that it bothers him.
Even my oldest daughter finds it strange.
I do not wrap the vacuum cord around the handle like it is designed to do.

I vacuum often and find it annoying to have to stop and unravel the long cord.
When I am finished vacuuming, I simply take the cord and make large loops with my hand.
I hang the lightly looped cord over the handle.
The next time I have to vacuum, the cord is easily plugged into the wall.

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I am not a beach person per se.
That is a strange truth considering the fact that our entire family goes to the beach each year.
Perhaps it is the fact that we are all together that makes this time so special.
It is not the sun and sand that call to me.

Being Irish and fair skinned, my time at the beach is under the umbrella with lots of sunscreen.
None of us come home with a tan.
A few of us come home, despite our efforts to the contrary, with some sunburn.
Sun kissed rather than sun baked is fine with me.

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