Wednesday, July 31, 2013

Grammy Camp

Our beloved grandchildren are sent to nursery school, pre-school, pre-kindergarten, transition kindergarten, enrichment programs, gynmastics, sports, art, Lego and science camps. 

They also go to "Jew Day" camps (like pop-up stores) but in parks so no one will be bored during the frequent holidays, professional development days, and extended holiday breaks that pock-mark a private religious school schedule.  

They are kept delightfully busy and happy.  Jack says things like "this is the best day ever", every day! What can you do with urban children? Hillside homes, busy streets, worries about molesters...it's not like my independent Midwestern childhood, when I rode my bike around the small town and played in the woods and Mom really didn't know where I was until I showed up for dinner. I get it, and am glad they have so much to interest them.

So, when Mom has a work opportunity (helps pay for their school and keeps that MBA resumé looking recent),Nannies Lorena or Veronica, or Mommy are sick, parents travel for a quick break, the youngest has to stay home while her elder brothers are busy at age-appropriate theme parks and birthday parties, the solution is: Grammy Camp!  

The children come to our small house, lovingly fitted with step-stools, booster seats, bubble bath, potty, colorful childrens dinnerware, bikes, pool toys, swings, art materials, DVD's, a octopus-size trainset, and two large bookshelves of games and toys.

A loving Grampy presence is waiting, too.  My childless husband has found a starring role as the go-to, hands on grandfather, graciously consenting to be pummeled mercilessly, submerge himself in ball pits, experience bent eyeglasses, and tivo his beloved Red Sox in order to view Snow White - again. 

Sometimes we have Grammy Sleep-Away Camp. The trundle beds have pirate bedsheets and armfuls of stuffed animals and special cuddly blankets.  

It's different here. The toys aren't the same.  No super-heros - just Harry Potter and classic Disney. Squirt guns are allowed.  The lemonade bar is always open. Lots of popcorn. We make boats out of milk cartons like my dad did for me and sail them in the pool. We build contraptions out of toilet paper tubes, blocks of scrap wood, and wine corks. We go to the park and get very dirty playing with water and sand. We run through the sprinklers.  

If you want to stay in your pajamas all day, you can.  Or swim with no clothes, or just wear a pull-up.   You choose all the activities. 

The only rule is no junk food and you must wear sunblock.  


Yesterday Jack attended Grammy Camp.  He is a lithe energy bundle, with a smile that glows from his heart and soul. Scientists say that loving children causes the body to secrete a chemical that results in a feeling of contentment and good will. 

For me, it is like the thanksgiving prayer at Christmas mass, or perhaps a lady bountiful fantasy, distributing profligate largesse with the certainty that it is perfectly given and boundlessly available. 

I remember how much I loved going to my grandmother's old farmhouse, and the sense of freedom, peace, and connection I felt.  I hope our grandchildren have memories like that that will come to them in quiet moments someday, when they have their own children to love and cherish.

These early years will pass, and we will no longer sleep with a crib in our bedroom, need drawers full of modern diapers, or a fleet of riding toys in various sizes.  The boys will study after school instead, turn to peers and independence of action and thought.

We'll be watching, celebrating the time we had, which lifted and humbled us to life, gratitude for its gift filling us with grace.    






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