My visitors have gone after four days of riot and chaos...
of the happy kind.
I miss the sound and sights of children,
especially this time of year when school begins.
It was a real treat for me to have Turkey and Bear here.
Grandpa Fuzzy survived,
though with less enthusiasm.
He is used to a quiet life.
Children are not quiet when excited and happy.
Not that he was unhappy to see them,
just ready to have his quiet life back once they had gone.
So this morning I sat in my quiet on the patio,
sipping my coffee and reflecting on the past few days.
The man and I often talk about our families and how we were raised and how we raised our own mobs.
The man came from a fairly strict old school type family...
dad came home from work tired and ready to relax...
so mom shooed the kids aside and out of his hair.
Dad time for them came on weekends and vacations.
Unless someone was in big trouble and dad came on duty as the
dreaded enforcer.
Children were supposed to be quiet unless spoken to.
They played in their rooms where childish noises were not overheard.
My home as a child was riot central.
My dad walked into the door each day and was met by
five balls of chaos...
all chattering at the same time...
all thrilled that dad had come home.
We were caught up in the excitement of dad!
He was equally happy to see us and tired his best to hear every word flying out of our mouths and to comment on them.
There were hugs and tickle fights...
and odd thing we called "fanny pats" when we had done something particularly good... like a good grade or something we had figured out.
Okay... break for explanation.
A fanny pat is where dad stands facing one way...
kid faces the other way...
hip to his tall leg.
Then you pat each other rapidly on the fanny...
much in the manor of birthday swats.
Believe it or not, it was a reward we all sought.
The point is that my dad came through the door
wanting to see and enjoy his kids.
Both he and my mother were children people.
I recall clearly going to other children's homes and coming face to face with the "Ssshhhh.... daddy's home!"
attitude and being confused.
Why did anyone have to be quiet around a dad?
They were fun people!
They were the center of a kid's universe.
Duh!
But I digress.
The point here is that I see a real difference between my upbringing and the man's and the affect it has on his kids and mine.
The man has a great family.
They all get together fairly often.
However, they are more serious and sedate.
They are less affectionate toward each other.
Hugs are quick and happen on leaving.
Sort of like that French fashion of quick kiss on the cheeks.
My family is just as chaotic as the one I grew up in.
We are random huggers caught up in the joy of being together.
The man actually likes this about my kids.
Chatter begins as soon as we are in ear shot of each other
and we are still calling things to each other as they leave.
So as I sat here reflecting...
I thought perhaps it is a good thing that the man and I met later in life.
I could not have parented any differently than I did.
I can see how our parenting styles would have come into conflict...
had we raised children together.
Fortunately we don't have that issue to worry about now.
I'm not saying that either style of parenting is right or wrong.
Just different.
We are what we are... and we get it where we came from.
I still parent the same,
be it my grand kids or his.
I happily take on his grand kids for the most part
while he seeks shelter when he needs it in his shop...
coming and going as his nerves can take kid exuberance.
I don't mind a bit.
I like the noise, the joy and the random thoughts
of small people untarnished.
We had a wonderful visit.
Bear said that Turkey cried himself to sleep on the ride home...
saying "I miss grandma."
I shed a few tears myself once they were out of view.
But they will be back.
And we are always in some way
"together".
