By C.L. Beck
For the past four days I’ve been doing “Grandma duty". My son and his wife just moved into a new home, so I tended their two and five-year-old during the unpacking.
If I’d known what I was getting into, I would have arranged to hire on as a Sherpa in the Himalayas so that I could claim to be busy. I’ll admit the pay for “Grandma duty” is better—you can’t beat hugs and kisses from little people—but it certainly would have been less physically and mentally demanding to be a Sherpa.
At it stands right now, my back is killing me. One knee no longer works, and I limp like an old codger (or codger-ette). I have dark circles under my eyes from missing my afternoon snooze.
Worst of all, my mind has disappeared. Yesterday, while my two sweethearts were taking a nap (or so I thought), I tried to write this blog. Phrases like, “Do you need to go potty?” and “No, it isn’t nice to spit on the dog,” ran through my mind. I stared at a blank page for ever so long and finally gave up.
The moral of the story is that I gained a new appreciation for those writers who are full-time mommies and daddies. I wouldn’t give up the jam-filled hugs or the unasked-for-kisses of the past four days, but I’m glad that my normal routine allows just a little more time for my mind to get into gear and to get my thoughts down on paper.
And for those of you who write and still have children at home, my hat’s off to you!