Connie the Gray

    This post is not about my hair which, under the dye, has gone from gray to white, this is about cleaning. When I think about how much housecleaning I used to do compared to now, it reminds me of the scene in Lord of the Rings where three of the good guys encounter Gandalf the wizard, whom they thought was dead. Apparently, even Gandalf thought he was dead because, when they call his name he says, "Gandalf? . . . Yes, that was what they used to call me . . . Gandalf the Gray." Admittedly, nobody ever used to call me Connie the Cleaner, but it would not have been too inaccurate. I still like things to be clean, I've just lost interest in being the one who makes them that way. Of course, the house does not get as dirty now as when we were full time parents, but I probably do less housecleaning in a month than I did on a typical Friday back then. 

     Today I noticed that my kitchen counters had reached the point where a wipe down with the dishcloth was not enough, so I decided to clean the kitchen. My new best buddy for cleaning is shaving cream. It works well, smells good, and makes me feel like I am finger painting instead of cleaning. While I was creaming the microwave, I discovered two things  I had long forgotten: 

                              1. The microwave has a back.

                              2. The back is not self cleaning.

Those are the type of details one forgets if one doesn't clean frequently. Not that I intend to change anything. My house is one of the many things I will leave behind when I go to my real home--heaven.  So, if the standards I once had for my home are now a distant memory from a cleaner, whiter existence,   

  -if the front of my fridge looks like I am preserving fingerprints for posterity

  -if no sane bird would mistake my front windows for open air

  -if my Norwex cleaning cloths die of neglect

  -if I am content to live with dust until that is what I become

feel free  to call me Connie the Gray. (As long as you're not referring to my hair!)

The Best Day Ever

     When my son-in-law, Luke, told me he wanted to get Britten away for a few days to celebrate their 20th anniversary, I thought that was wonderful. We agreed to watch the girls while they were gone. Knowing "we" meant mostly me, I had a few things I wondered about too. Being decades away from both full time childcare and, most importantly, energy, I wondered if I could keep up with my three and six year old granddaughters. I have a Grandma day with each of my three granddaughters on Monday, Wednesday and Friday, but that is only for a few hours at a time, one at a time. On Grandma days, I am at their disposal. No work, just play. And they decide what we play. 

    As a mom, I took care of our three kids along with my many responsibilities at home because we would not have had food to eat, clean clothes, or a functional home otherwise, but as a Grandma, I hate to waste our precious time together on such trivial tasks. Yet, on a two day visit, house chores were bound to come up. Also, Britten's girls have outgrown afternoon naps, which was when I used to study the Bible when my kids were little. Actually, afternoons are still my preferred time for that, so I wasn't sure how to work my BSF lesson in with the girls around. I also wasn't sure what to feed them since their picky eater meters vary by the day and hour. Besides that, on our last experience with Brie sleeping over, she was still awake and talkative at 11:30 p.m. Reed and I, however, did not want to be awake, much less talk, that time of night. And Ren, who sometimes can be consoled only by her Mama, had never slept over anywhere. In many ways, this was going to be an experiment, a test of my dormant mothering disciplines.

     The first activity I had planned after Luke dropped off the girls was painting rocks. Lest anyone think I am either creative enough or crazy enough to use actual paint, we paint rocks with water, an idea I copied from the BSF children's program. Our front yard fountain is lined with river rock and water makes even the most ordinary one look beautiful. It accentuates colors, layers and textures barely noticeable when they are dry. Rock painting was followed by play dough, water painting pictures, popcorn chicken and mac and cheese for dinner, plus umpteen episodes of the Australian cartoon "Bluey". After jammies, brushing teeth, and a stack of bedtime stories, I tucked them in, hoping their day bed and trundle sleeping arrangement would work out. 

    Then Brie asked me, "Was this your best day ever, Grandma? We got to paint rocks, play and have dinner together, then a sleepover." Brie's words were the water that changed my day of childcare responsibilities from duty into beauty. I laid down with an angel in kitty pajamas until she fell asleep and thought about the day. Isaiah 11:6 says, ". . . And a little child shall lead them." Thank you Brie, for helping me see the best day ever.