No One to Play With

     For many years I have called my sister's children, Alex and Amanda, my transition team to bridge the gap between raising my own children and having grandchildren.  I married young and had all three of our children by the time I was 30.  My sister, who is six years younger than me, didn't marry until she was over 30.  (For a fee I will tell how much over 30.)  My kids were in their teens when my sister's were being born.  Unfortunately my niece and nephew have also succumbed to growing up, Alex is 13, Amanda 11, and the ship coming in with my grandchildren has not yet appeared on the horizon.
     I have been grateful not to be made a grandmother through the creative efforts of my unmarried sons like many of my acquaintances have.  I am also grateful that my daughter lacked that kind of creativity before marriage and while putting her husband through school. Now, after nearly eight years of marriage, they have decided to make a sequel  "Grad School (non) Musical " which alters the ETA of my future grandkids.  There are many reasons for wanting to have grandchildren: spiritual--I want to help pass the baton of faith to the next generation,  revenge--someday I hope you have children just like you,  selfish--you get to spoil them and give them back to their parents.  My reason--I want to have someone to play with.  That is why I look with such regret at the empty horizon and a transition team who will soon discover hanging out with their aunt is uncool; I am afraid I will have no one to play with.
     I don't intend to be one of those grandmas who has things to play with, I want to be a thing to play with.  I like coloring and pretending a blanket on the floor is a magic carpet.  I like making forts in the living room and in piles of leaves, making up silly songs and wishing on the first star of the evening.  I like imagining.  For example, on Sunday we were at Silverwood amusement park where my favorite ride is the Paratrooper.  On the first ride Amanda was with her mother and I rode by myself.  I noticed how much it was like swinging and was tempted to pump my legs as if it would go higher, but I was a 54 year old woman riding alone on the Paratrooper.  Toward the end of the evening while Reed and Alex were waiting in line for another ride, Amanda and I ran off to the Paratrooper.  I pretended to use Jedi mind tricks on the group of teens in front of us, "These are not the rides you're looking for", and they actually did leave to go home.  Perhaps I am a Jedi.  Amanda and I rode together pumping our legs, grossly describing what would happen if our seat broke free.  We named the stars--not the constellations--Herbie, Melvin things like that.  Simply put, we played.
     I was one of those girls often described as mature for my age.  This is code for a child forced to grow up too quickly by hard circumstances.  Maybe for that reason I didn't get playing out of my system, all I know is that I am tired of being mature for my age.  I'm not going to start singing "Puff, the Magic Dragon" at this point.  Maybe I'm just a girl who can't say grow, but the solution to the problem is simple--trust God.  That is the solution to everything. Trust His plan. Trust His timing. Trust His goodness. Meanwhile I'll play with the transition team as long as I can and just keep watching the horizon.