Now for the Son of my Son.

The reason grandchildren and grandparents get along so well is that they have a common enemy. ~Sam Levenson

My sons seem to think I am besotted by babies.  My girls are a little more realistic ~ or just know me waaay better.  I like babies.  I adore the new baby smell & the softness of a newborn's hair but truth to be told I found it hard to get overly excited about the arrival of our first grandchild.  It had not bothered me that our mob was getting older with no sign of anyone at all settling down to produce the next generation. I adored my own babies because they were mine but while reality is not normally my strong suit I'm enough of a realist to know I'm probably not the grandmother you want in an emergency. Not practical.

At times like these a girl wants her mother ~ not her M~I~L ~ & while they are not out of state they are far enough away that getting there from here is not the easiest thing to do. Not being the overly practical sort & knowing perfectly well what sort of mother I was [erratic, mostly easy~going, but prone to bouts of depression & being overly fraught] all my strengths as a parent were in less tangible things.  I was super great at bedtime stories. My minor at uni was drama.  I do all the voices. I do the actions. Seriously, I am good enough that I am the only parent who did storytelling at Under~8s day at school & had the kids begging to be allowed to participate.  Yep. If you actually want to eat I'm not your girl.

 However my ET is a super excited dad so when he asked would I come help out till his m~i~l arrives I said yes. I am just a tad worried.  I mean, the kid is gorgeous.  What's not to like?

 He was bright eyed & bushy tailed nearly all morning when we visited for the day then crashed into this super relaxed, utterly adorable bundle of gorgeousness but he is hardly old enough to be taught how to build a fire, pitch a tent, sail a boat, or participate in story~telling ~ things I can actually do. I'm great at paint activities too.  As for singing ~ we're good at this size when they can't tell one note from another.

In all honesty, seeing my son hold his son, terrifies me.  How did he ever get that big?  Where did all those years go? So on Sunday I am going to play grown ups.  CG is going to run me up the range & I am going to try & be helpful: do the dishes, cook some meals, wash little jumpsuits, hang things on the line, fold them & put them away again, walk the dog....maybe cuddle a baby.  Sometimes.  Just a little bit. And convince my son, who seems to want to call me Granny, that I absolutely hate that moniker & he can break his jaws on Móraí ~ which is much easier to say than it looks.