Even though I get on various kicks of worrying about the direction our world is going, from global warming to corruption in the government, the grandkids bring me back to reality. They have the ability to see life through rose colored glasses, and can overlook the bad to just focus on the good.
A kids' world, full of fantasies and fairytales, is a lot more fun than trying to figure out what's wrong with people and why they do such awful things. I'm not going to be the person to tell them the boogie man really does exist. Not a day goes by I'm not shocked by something being reported on the news. From school violence to random shootings, it seems as though an increasing number of victims are innocent bystanders, who are running out of public places to feel safe in. It's getting hard not to worry about what lies ahead for the grandkids.
I'm on the tail end of battling cabin fever and everything will be right with my world once I can spend more time outside. As soon as I fire up the faster-than-the-speed-of-light lawnmower, I'll get the attitude adjustment I need by only being able to hear the whirl of grass being cut.
This year I'll have two more helpers in the garden as the toddler grandsons seem to have inherited my love for the outdoors. (OK, I'm sure most kids want to be outside but I'm taking the credit for this one anyway). One thing for certain, by the time we can't manage mowing the 10 acres ourselves, I'll have them all trained for the tasks and convinced it's the most fun a person can have in one day.
I will do anything in my power to keep my children from being harmed or hurt and now, with the grandchildren, it seems to have turned into something that can only be described as a neurotic, fanatical, would-sacrifice-my-world-for-them obsession. I've even found myself having to keep my emotions in check at the four-year-olds' soccer game when someone knocks him down.
The toddlers' are just beginning to say some words and to help them along, I made videos of myself, showing them how to say grandma. I'm not sure my daughters actually showed it to their toddlers, but I felt the need to make an instructional video, because as I said before, I'm a little preoccupied with the grandkids.
My phone rang and I missed the call. I quickly jump to the conclusion something's wrong every time one of the daughters call me. I'm blaming this mental madness on menopause. She left a voicemail, which is unusual.
A tiny little voice said, "hi G-G" and then again, "hi G-G," and then even softer, "hi."
They can call me G-G, they can call me grandma, or they can call me Sandy, it doesn't matter. I'll always wear rose colored glasses, because no matter what, I want their world to be full of beauty, even if I have to hide some of the truth.
Sandy Turner lives in Independence. Email her at firstname.lastname@example.org.