Peace and Quiet

This was our year for all the kids and grandkids to be with us for Thanksgiving: our three daughters, son-in-law, grandkids Will, Catie, Jack, Autumn and Ada, plus friends Paul and Nancy. In all, thirteen for dinner, but only nine spending the night. And only seven spending the weekend.

I love this truism about the joy of hosting your grown children and their kids: The sweetest sight in the world is their car turning into the driveway, and the second sweetest is the same car backing out when the visit is over.

Post Thanksgiving, I can appreciate that wisdom. Sure, the toys are back in the toy closet; the dishwasher has been run and emptied one more time; four loads of sheets and towels are laundered; the craft paint spots have been eradicated from the kitchen table and tile. On the other hand, I don’t have anyone with whom to read a bedtime story. Or delight in the immense depth of the bath water in the spa tub. Or sing me a song about ballerinas. (Don’t tell me Curt can fill in; he had to catch a plane for Canada this afternoon. And while he likes deep bathtubs, he knows diddly squat about ballerinas.)

In the midst of all the “I’m hungry,” and “Can we make a gingerbread house,” and “Where’s the kitty?” and “I want to play with that!” and “Come and watch me,” interspersed with shrieks and laughter and mittens and shoelaces and toilet needs, it’s apparent from this vantage point why nature has determined that human beings have their offspring while the parents are still relatively young. I’m amazed to realize that Curt and I also once handled all the tumult of a young family with such aplomb, and I have new admiration for grandparents who are called upon to raise their grandchildren.

Still, I already miss the wild enthusiasm of Will, age 6, whose favorite expression is “Who doesn’t love (fill in the blank)!” As in, “Who doesn’t love Thanksgiving dinner!” even though he doesn’t really love most of what was served at Thanksgiving dinner. His favorites were the grape tomatoes on the appetizer platter, the sparkling juice, and the dinner rolls. His assessment of the star attraction as it was prepared to go into the oven: “That’s a live turkey!” His sister Catie, age 3, decided in that one look that she no longer likes turkey. Can’t say I blame them; that’s basically why I’m vegetarian myself. Even so, at the dinner table Will marveled, “Grandma, you made all of this!”

And I love the way they make me laugh. Catie’s dad Dave remarked, “When you get older, Catie, you’ll be able to get me coffee.” Catie’s response: “I’m free and free-quarters, and I can get all the drinks I want for myself.” Let Daddy get his own damn coffee.

But then again, I have only myself to please at dinner tonight. I’ll go for slightly past-its-prime leftover pasta, Chex mix and Ghirardelli 60% dark chocolate chips. I can’t look at stuffing or sweet potato casserole right now. Please. Though they’re still buried in the fridge somewhere.

So, let me see. Tonight:

Gramps the cat dozing blissfully, check.

Everything in its rightful place, check.

Me with my feet up and a good book, check.

Troll books and ballerinas, no check.

Conclusion: Peace and quiet is both marvelous and overrated. At least I have some new Christmas ornaments—snowmen and stars freshly painted in muddy blue and gray tones because too many colors were applied, all signed illegibly on the back. I’m sure they’ll look great hanging on the tree next to the ones their mom and aunts painted 25 years ago.

Besides, the whole clan will be back in four weeks for Christmas. Life is good.