THE GRANDS ARE COMING!

Notes of Concern…

                               …Jackson Blair

THE GRANDS ARE COMING

I had to have a cooling off period before writing about Christmas.

My readers are probably just as pleased I waited because they had heard enough about Christmas from everyone else and, of course, had experienced it themselves.

However, this Christmas simply was not one to be ignored.

My wife and I hosted our four children and their spouses, fiancées, significant others, etc (whatever!) and four of our seven grandchildren. While they arrived and departed at different times, not considering the advantages (to me) of coordinated arrivals at airports, we did essentially have them all here for three overlapping days.

We have not had our hoard here for some time en masse so my wife was particularly eager to have it all go well. And I must admit that with all my bitching about airport runs, I really was excited to have them all coming, as is always the case, and I truly do not mind driving to the airport (evidenced by my volunteering in the midst of all these trips to take two friends to the airport at 4AM on one of the days!).

Leading up to the holidays I planned my driving. Two round trips to Logan and two round trips to Manchester. On one day we had kids arriving at Logan on the same day as kids arriving at Manchester. The car broke down. I repaired the car. A tire went bad. I replaced the tire.

After all, The Grands Are Coming. No one begrudges spending a few bucks under those circumstances.

At home, we have an indoor swimming pool. We didn’t build it, it came with the house when we bought it. My wife rarely uses it in the winter because she does not like to pay to heat it but, The Grands Are Coming.

On went the heater. The pool stayed cold. Out went the emergency call for help. The pool guy arrived, gerrymandered some valves and, voila, the pool began to heat. Hey, a coupla bucks. Who cares.

The Grands Are Coming.

Then the heater for the room in which the pool is located went on the fritz! Out went the emergency call for help. Heater repaired. Sure, the bucks are adding up but, The Grands Are Coming!

Time to clean all the guest bedrooms. The Grands are coming. No charge. Well, we did have them painted and carpeted first, but look at what we saved on cleaning them ourselves.

Two of the three vacuum cleaners did not work. They have worked for a decade. This week-nada! The third threw a stubborn streak of a couple of days. My wife said: no more repairs! She sure knows how to save those pennies!

Even when The Grands Are Coming.

I did not worry about this momentary economizing because as soon as she remembered the Grands were all under five and qualified as “rug rats” she realized you just had to clean the carpets.

The day before the first group was set to arrive, as my wife made menus for multiple days and planned her festive Christmas Day Feast, the oven stopped working. Since Grands are not only “rug rats” but “crumb grabbers” this presented a real emergency.

The Grands and The Kids are coming. 

Out went the emergency call for help. A momentary refusal to combine it with a call for help with the vacuums. The oven was repaired and no one need fear a lack of a Christmas repast.

Shortly after groups one and two of Grands and Kids arrived, a Grand slipped some coin into the disposal and it broke. Back to economizing. No call for help. Who needs a disposal? In fact, if you play your cards right and have enough Grands you really do not need a disposal. They will eat anything. And what they refuse, the dogs will handle in no time.

With nine adults and four kids, as opposed to just the two of us, things seemed to be manageable until the dishwasher stopped. Fortunately, this occurred toward the end of the family holiday. My wife looked at me intently and bestowed upon me the title Dishwasher-in-Chief.

Somewhere in the middle of all this the wine opener broke, two crystal glasses broke, the dogs ate various scrumptious dishes that had been lovingly prepared for people consumption, and we rarely had any idea which of our various Grands were sleeping in which rooms or with which set of parents.

The idea of having multiple guest rooms and a century old house with front and back staircases just proved too much for the youngsters. The non-stop running up and down stairs, squealing and chasing one another, is a never to be forgotten memory for me.

When they were not engaged in these activities they were happily chasing the two cats all over the house in an attempt to catch them and subject them to petting and kissing. When that failed, as it always did, they took to the less quick moving dogs and simply “hounded” them “24-7.” While I admit that being older makes all the noise a little bit nerve wracking I also admit to reveling in the memories of similar behavior when our kids were the ages of their kids now. My mind harked back to those days. My wife was a master of handling the troops back then and she made sure I had places to find peace and quiet after hard days on Wall Street. Nevertheless, after all these years, when the kids and Grands are here she effortlessly summons up that outstanding mothering ability and steps right into the situation.  I think women simply have this special knack and we fellows are so lucky. That knack does not disappear with age. Watch any grandmother and you will see! So in addition to recalling my own adult children in their “rug-rat-crumb-grabbing” years, I also saw years peel off my wife as she re-engaged with children.

Our family holiday is over. One night during the visitation my wife leaned over to me in our bed, where we had secluded ourselves from the circus around us, and whispered, “whose idea was this?”

It was a seminal moment.

All those feelings wrapped up in one small, simple sentence. She always has a way of simplifying things and making them manageable. But we both knew that we loved the memories, loved the return of our gaggle of kids with their gaggle of kids, and knew we would find the house strangely quiet and missing something special when they left to return to their homes where they are creating their own memories.

What could be done?

I am a man of action.

I can handle these small problems. Especially when they impact the domestic tranquility of my castle. So I went immediately to UMASS-Worcester, checked in at the surgical wing and went under the knife.

Whilst the cacophony continued at home, I blissfully rested in my room giving myself over to all the wonderful drugs the hospital is willing to provide when you visit. You can lie there and dream.

And so I did.

Someone brings your food. Someone empties the various vials that hold your bodily fluids. Someone brings you more drugs, on a regular basis. They keep you warm and bring you newly warmed blankets whenever you want them. They fluff your pillow. Now they even print their names on a white board so you don’t have to pretend to remember them as they change shifts.

Wow.

Such a deal.

When I came home, almost all of our houseguests had departed or planned to do so the following morning. The ones who remained were very solicitous of my recovery period and made sure I was permitted a lot of quiet time.

How could it get any better. And when the house was actually back to normal all would be right with the world.

Right?

Nope?

They are gone. I am vacuuming with an alarmingly inadequate sweeper. I am doing dishes by hand. I am not disposing of anything. I am not using the oven because I know if it breaks  wife will not repair it. I am not swimming in the pool…saving money on heating. I am not driving until I get all the pre-Christmas repair bills paid (besides the surgeon won’t let me yet).

My wife is back at work.

The Grands are back in their own homes.

The Kids are back to their daily routine.

I am left with the remnants of what will undoubtedly be considered the last of the really big family Christmases! Well, at least until this one becomes a faded memory and we all begin to plan on the next gathering of “the Clan.”

In the meantime, we plan trips to visit the kids and the Grands. We consider retiring to be closer to them and to see them more often. Our lives are made more meaningful each time we hear about their accomplishments and activities.

Such are the things of which priceless memories are made.