Gramma

They say parenting little kids is “Long days, short years.” Very true. My youngest child is 10, which is still a sweet and magical age, but the exploration and wandering time I had with my kids when they were little – walking (painfully) slowly in the woods, keeping track of bugs, leaves, birds, pushing a swing over and over and over, reading the same books, is long gone, and (sometimes) I miss it. I am feeling nostalgic these days. Perhaps it is because I am still really trying to make sense of the loss last summer of my best friend, Katie. Being with her all the time while she parented her 2 toddler boys always reminded me of my life when my now teenage boys were little. My life was simpler. Simpler, yes- easier, no. In retrospect, of course, everything takes on a warm glow when you’re feeling that pesky nostalgia.

Now Katie is gone. Her husband is raising the boys with love and adventure and Shakespeare and life will be good for them…but not what was planned. Every time I see a mom walking with a 3 year old or talking to her kids in the supermarket or showing a little boy the view outside a train window, I think of Kate and how very much she wanted that simple life and then I think about when my kids were little and it seemed like it was so hard but really it was great and before I know it, my eyes fill up and tears spill over.

The fact that my 2 boys are now solidly teenagers is likely also making the nostalgia grow. Parenting teenagers is exactly what they told me it would be! My middle son, 14, an incredibly smart and strong and handsome fellow, is ensuring that I earn my stripes right now. Where are my hugs? We used to call it “The Frankie Special” because he gave such great hugs. Now it feels like our relationship consists only of me buying him food and sneakers at an alarming rate in exchange for grunts, mumbles, and rolled eyes.

My older son, Myles, and my daughter, Nora, look so much like me and I look exactly like my dad, so we have always said ,”Myles and Nora are Finnegans.” We would always say Frankie looked more like my husband but I never really thought he did. We’d say,” Frankie is a Wilman,” but I just didn’t see it. Then, one day a few years ago, I got some old photos of my mother-in-law, Mary, and her parents and siblings. I couldn’t believe how much my lovely, feminine, mother- in- law looked like my brawny boy!

Frankie is a MAGUIRE!!!

Mary’s family is from Boston but right before that, Ireland and Poland. I never knew John, the Irish one-Mary’s dad, but I did get to meet Jeanette, the Polish one- who my husband lovingly called Gramma.

Jeanette, like many women of her generation, was skilled at handwork such as knitting, crochet, needlepoint, sewing and many other things. I WISH I had half the useful skills she had!

She knitted these mittens for my husband when he was little and all three of my kids wore them one after another. Aren’t they so sweet? What a skill it is to create something lovingly by hand that can be used and appreciated for generations.

Thinking today about Gramma, about Jeanette Maguire, Kate Altman, a pair of mittens, wandering in the woods, reading the same stories, pushing the swing, and a little boy who gave great hugs.

Long days, short years.

Indeed.