This is another story about my mother during her stay with us in honor of Mother’s Day–
“Time for a walk, Grammie!” my grandson Gavin called out to my mother.
Going for a walk with an octogenarian and a preschooler with our varied paces was one of the realities of living in a multigenerational home. As part of the “sandwich generation,” I found myself taking the role of the creamy white filling in the middle of the Oreo cookie.
We started out mid-morning after preparing with shoe searches, potty breaks, and assistance with coats, sweaters, and scarves. On colder days, this also included the complicated task of guiding Gavin’s little fingers into tiny gloves, and a check through coat pockets for our Grammie’s missing mittens.
Ah, at last, we were ready and almost exhausted before we started! To avoid the steep front steps, we left through the garage, which should have been less complicated. Instead, I occupied myself keeping a spring-loaded youngster, raring to go, from escaping. At the same time, I carefully helped balance Grammie through the narrow pathway. Just before our three year-old bolted out the door, we grabbed him and joined hands assuming our multigenerational parade.
As we strolled along, I found distractions to occupy the younger member of our trio, to curb his desire to skip and run. We watched squirrels scampering in trees overhead and listened carefully to chirping birds after a morning rain shower. In the meantime, Grammie did her best to shuffle along, enjoying the fresh air after several days of being stuck inside.
Grammie was ready to turn around and head back with a half block’s leisurely stroll completed. In spite of loud protests from our junior party we make a u-turn at the neighbor’s driveway and started homeward. I promised Gavin a continuation of the walk after our senior member arrived home, to keep his mutiny at a minimum.
We began the fast track portion of the walk after we made sure that Grammie was safely up the garage stairs. Gavin and I continued our travelogue discussion on neighborhood features, including a round house, some big trucks, and even a plane droning overhead.
“Come on, Grandma! Let’s go see the dogs,” Gavin exclaimed, as he grabbed my hand, dragging me toward three barking dogs lurching at us behind a chain link fence. As my heart pounded and I tried a “Nice doggy!” greeting, Gavin grinned from ear to ear with his fearless approach to life.
Each driveway we came to became an opportunity to try “Stop, Look, and Listen” in case cars should come. I gave him some practice freedom and noted how he remembered these skills at several driveways, as I coached him from behind. Soon enough, the joy of running overtook him, and he raced ahead, safety instructions forgotten.
“Gavin James, you wait at the corner for Grandma, or you’ll wish you had!” I shouted between pants as my faltering legs finally caught up to him.
As we neared the last corner to home and lunch time, I relented and released Gavin from his forced slower pace, allowing him to run and open the garage. We were ready for the warmth of our chicken noodle soup with Grammie, where we would review the adventures of our walk and prepare for a nap.
Content with tummy full and walking adventures recounted, Gavin commented, “That was a good walk, Grandma. Can we go again?”
In days to come when my pace has become a shuffle, these treasured memories will be stored in my heart from the busy days of “sandwich generation” blessings.
Dianna
Sharing the Fruit of Maturity
