It was a full house....

People ask me what it was like. It was a happy kind of chaos. An airplane taxied under my bed while a dinosaur lounged in the driveway. The backyard was full of every type of ball: tennis, whiffle, baseball, basketball. During the winter, a stroller was sometimes parked by the back door. Just as they had promised, a moving truck pulled up to our house on June 10th at 9:00 a.m. The men hoisted boxes of books, toys, clothes and papers. They took apart the queen-sized bed, and carted away the changing table and the nursing chair. By the afternoon, all that remained were the dust bunnies, a multi-colored dragon and a basil plant.

My daughter, son-in-law, two toddler grandsons and their eighty-pound mutt, Fiona moved in with my husband, David and me last June. David described it as being invaded. It did turn our lives upside down. Our dinner hour became 6:00 p.m. as two child seats were pulled up to the table. Jess was pregnant with their third child. It was the moment to renovate their antique Victorian. It was time for modern wiring, heating and lead-free paint. Removing one wall always gives way to another. The initial estimate of six months stretched into twelve. I couldn’t imagine not opening my home to my family. Who would want her grandchildren living amidst construction particles and rubble? Friends said: “Well, they could rent!”

David and I didn’t want them wasting their money on rent while we were living in a house that could accommodate them. Our cabinets became stuffed with wooden blocks, Lego sets and Playmobil people. It seemed that every other week, Fiona sliced a paw, strained a leg or broke a nail while racing after scurrying squirrels. This led to vet visits, bandages, one hapless and limp squirrel on the front walk and Fiona almost always wearing a “lampshade” around her head so she couldn’t scratch off her dressings.

Our third grandchild was due in December. Thanksgiving weekend was busy with celebrating my daughter-in-law Jackie’s birthday and mine. Our immediate family of ten plus one more dog crammed into our house on aero beds. Another four relatives joined us for a festive Thanksgiving meal. We enjoyed a Celtics game and a Nutcracker performance. Sunday night I was on my feet until 11:00 p.m. putting through loads of sheets, towels and tablecloths. When I finally got into bed around midnight, I could hear Jess pacing back and forth above me. Her water had broken. Her husband, Shane knocked on my bedroom door. It was time to go to the hospital. Witnessing the birth of my first grandchild, Simon had left me speechless while Asher barreled into the world so quickly that I barely had time to collect my thoughts. Miriam created a fourth generation of women in our family. She made her debut in a mellow way. Her face showed no sign of a struggle. When I held her, my eyes filled with tears as I hugged her close and thought about the strength of all the females who had come before her.

Now at six months old, she greets me with a smile and melts into my embrace. For a year, we got to live the way families used to dwell in triple-deckers. There was always another set of arms, another lap for snuggling and an extra set of eyes to read a story. Each morning, we woke to tiny footsteps and muffled whispers. “Don’t bother Grandma until she’s had her coffee.” Grandpa opened our bedroom door and Simon reached his warm arms around his neck. In the spring, Simon turned five and changed seemingly overnight from a preschooler to a little boy with a sense of fun. Asher celebrated his third birthday and decided he was wearing Lightning McQueen underwear. One evening during dinner, Shane innocently flushed the toilet for Asher. This spawned a toddler-sized fit that no amount of Swedish fish candy could remedy. Jess turned to me and asked: “You don’t have any small treats, by chance?” The only item remaining in my gift stash was a $40 Tyrannosaurus Rex. When Simon spotted it, his eyed widened: “I think I have to make a poop too, Grandma.”

There were once a portable crib and a diaper pail in the dining room along with paint and tile samples. Art projects piled high on the kitchen counter and juice boxes and quack ‘n bites spilled from the pantry. I feel a little bit the way I did when our children went away to college. Gone are the scattered sweaty tee shirts and wet towels. The order and silence are palpable. While they were living with us, we were impressed with how patient Jess and Shane are as parents. They can ignore towers of dirty dishes and mountains of laundry while they play with their kids. I have a constant, unnecessary need to wipe and fold.

My life as I knew it is back. I have stretches of time to myself. I can gaze out the window next to my desk and marvel at the impatiens flourishing under the dogwood tree. I can contemplate preparing a romantic dinner for two and in the evening while I undress; I can leave my door ajar. I can schedule meetings in the dining room and entertain adults on the patio. Nobody is playing Candyland in my study, running greasy fingers along the wall or driving a fire truck into the baseboard. I am also not holding Miriam while my daughter boils pasta, sitting with Asher while he inhales his asthma medication, picking up Simon at school or drying off the boys after their bath. It is just as I figured. I already miss them.

MV A.M.

Oaks and shad swaying
near jogging footsteps
Catbirds purring
A small plane humming
A lawnmower buzzing
David rapping
with a hammer
repairing a screen
Charli was insistent
one morning...