Under the Quilt.

Here is my very new grandson; four days old, newly arrived home in Berlin and tucked up under the quilt. It seems to be working well, as is he. I like to think he's smiling, but my son doesn't think so, not just yet. Many other people are though, in several continents.

This little one is half Canadian, with a Canadian mother and a whole family of grand-parents, aunts, uncles and a  baby cousin in parts of Canada, including Alaska. He has a British family, an uncle, aunt and two cousins, plus a Granny who might turn out to be an Oma because he'll be mostly living in  Austria and will be bilingual. He has lots of relatives in New Zealand too because his father has dual nationality.
I am deeply grateful for Skype and e-mail, because he will be a widely travelling infant; a citizen of the world already. Apparently his passport is on its way.

A digression - what about those infant passports, issued before teeth emerge and valid for so many years? I remember airport officials being bemused by grand-daughter a couple of years ago, receiving a passport showing a glumly suspicious, wispy-haired baby and being confronted by an all-singing all-dancing little girl with a cascade of golden curls. Confusing for the authorities?

Three grand-children, how amazing. What a wonderful bonus in the life of an eighty year old.
Some time ago I almost arranged to have a tattoo reading (DNR - Do Not Resuscitate) in a conspicuous place. (Possibly also PTO on the reverse in case I was found the wrong way up). I didn't do that, but I did wear a bracelet with the same message when I was driving on my own. I had some medical issues and an absolute dread of being a nuisance to the family.

I don't wear it any more. I don't even know where it is.
I'd rather like to stick around a bit longer and see what happens next.
Thank you, grand-children for giving me a whole new reason for living.

Pirates in the Kitchen (also Mermaids).

(A bedtime story for grandchildren who are now three, about to be seven, and  getting ready to be born next year.)

Far away where the mermaids sing the pirates sailed their raft. It was made of clear glass, and it was round.

The pirates, three of them, shouted a lot and waved their weapons about and pushed each other and nearly fell off their little glass raft. They made a great deal of noise and fuss.

And deeper under the raft the mermaids saw an awful lot of agitation and heaving about and wafted themselves over to see what was happening. Mermaids swim slowly, wafting their tails up and down. They are not built for speed, like a shark, and they usually carry their hairdressing stuff and a small mirror so that they can be sure they are looking lovely all the time.  

When they (there were seven of them) got near to the churning whiteness and heard all the shouting  they said, 'Oh dear. Pirates again!' and they flopped themselves up on to the glass raft. They took out their combs and brushes and little mirrors from their vanity cases and sat there, combing their hair.

The pirates were shocked into silence, mostly because their raft was tilting heavily to one side, with all the mermaids sitting there.
Ivo, the pirate with the silver sword  cleared his throat.
"Ahem, ladies," he said. "Would you mind spreading out a bit? You're making our raft tilt, and we don't want to fall off ."
"Can't you swim?" said one mermaid. She had long fair hair, just as mermaids should.
"That's not important," Ivo said, and all the mermaids laughed. All seven of them.
"Not important?" said the  blonde mermaid. "Not important?  Not important? Are you mad? Fooling about on a little glass raft, pushing each other, shouting and fighting - and you can't swim?"
And all the mermaids combed their hair and tossed it about and laughed and laughed.

Now there's something that pirates really don't like, and that is being laughed at. Mermaids don't like it either. Well, no one does really.
"Swimming is not important," said Ivo. "What is important is not falling off the raft, because if you fall off....."
But he didn't have the chance to finish, because all the mermaids hooted with laughter and shouted, "You'll drown, you'll drown! The fish will eat you!"
"How can you drown on the kitchen work-top?" said Ivo, and this time all the pirates hooted and laughed. Peg-Leg the politically incorrect pirate laughed so much he lost his balance, fell off the raft and slid down the back of the storage jar on the kitchen work-top.
The mermaids.put down their combs and mirrors and looked around.
"Oh!" they said, all of them. "Oh, oh and oh! We didn't see this one coming!"
"It's ok" shouted Peg-Leg from behind the storage jar. "We're all going to a birthday tea. Two birthday teas actually. One for pirates, one for mermaids. It'll be fine."

Just then Granny came into the kitchen. "I'm sure I had three pirates for the top of the cake", she said. "Who's messing about now?"

And early next year there will be another birthday, a day of birth, and the eaters of this year's birthday cakes will have a new little cousin to join the celebrations, someone to teach about dinosaurs and stars and beetles, never mind pirates and mermaids.
Such a lot to look forward to, for all of us.

Letter to a Granddaughter - Keys to the Future.

Dear Granddaughter,
Last weekend, for the first time, I showed you part of my blog - some of the part that was written for you, and has been written for you from before your birth. The time is coming when you will be able to read the Letters to a Granddaughter for yourself, and I want you to know that they are here.
I read this as a bed-time story, and you laughed and laughed, helpless with mirth at the glimpse of yourself nearly three years ago.
"Read it again, Granny, that is so funny! Read it again....."
So here, in the hope of delighting you in the future, is a glimpse of yourself at five-and-a-bit, during a weekend at my house.

"Can I use those keys?" you asked.
"They're part of your Granddad's collection of old church keys," I said. "They don't actually work on anything here."
"I know," you said. "I need them to sort out my future. It might be saving the planet or working in a church. You put them on the table, like this. Big ones first, then the little ones, and that one's really little.......and that one's a bit funny, but it should work all right. You line them up, like this...... Then you say 'Eeny meeny miney mo, catch a tiger by his toe, if he shouts, let him go, eeny, meeny, miney mo.' And oh look, it comes out as working in a church. I guessed it might be that. Or saving the planet. It's interesting though, isn't it?"
"It is," I said.

"It's nearly time for the Animal Ball," you said, sorting through the box of model animals. "These animals have been in their cages far too long, It's time they came out for a party. We'll put the food over here so they won't all get it at once, and just in case they start eating each other we'll have the little ones under the table. Like this. We'll put them in groups, so the carnivores are further away. And the vegetarians.....have we got any vegetarians? There are some dinosaurs in here, some of them are vegetarians. Oh, we'll need a special space for the nocturnals, I hadn't thought of that! Do we have a night party or a day party? And  what about the aquarium creatures? Oh. This is going to be a problem. I know, I'll put them back in their cages and give them their food and they can stay there and listen to music. That will be good for them, won't it?"
"They'll probably be happy with that", I said.
"It's not easy, being a zoo keeper," you said. "I think I'll go and check on things in the garden now."

"I can do amazing things on this swing," you said. "I can do a balancing act like this with my head nearly on the ground. Look at me........just look at me!"
"I'm looking," I said," But maybe dragging your hair in the mud isn't the best idea."
"It's a lovely feeling," you said. "Really lovely when you see things upside down. Everything looks good upside down, but I'm going to play shops next. I've got real money in that tin. Ow, ow! Can you get this stuff out of my hair? Ow - it's pulling a bit now."

"This money came out of my archaeology dig," you said. (The archaeology dig has been going on for some time under the hedge. Odd coins appear at times, as do bits of 'Roman' blue and white pottery.) "I think I've got at least a hundred pounds now, or probably just a few pounds, but it doesn't matter because things in my shop are really cheap, and anyway I get them free. Would you like an ice-cream?"
"It's a bit cold for ice-cream," I said. "I'd quite like a toasted cheese sandwich."
"Well," you said. "I don't think I have cheese or a toaster or even a sandwich. I'm planning a shop with games to play and ice-cream, so what game would you like to play next? I've got skittles and tennis balls and a skipping rope and bean-bags to balance on your head. ....and oh look! I've got these bats with velcro sticky pads -  so come on, come on -  we'll play with these next!."
"Oh, goodie," I said.
So we did.

Thank you for another magical weekend, for including me in your games and giving me another great view of the world.

With love from Granny.

Letter to a Granddaughter.

Dear Granddaughter,
It's nearly five years since you entered my life, changing it for ever in ways that are entirely good.
I remember thinking at the time of your birth how amazing it was that such a tiny person could have such a profound effect and, well........it's gone on.
I try to think why the whole experience of being a grandmother is so different from that of being a mother, and in my case I think it's because I have time to reflect. As a parent there is not a lot of that going on.
I don't see you and your little brother so frequently, but after one of your weekend visits, while I'm gardening, walking, pottering around I think of you and remember what you've told me, how you've responded to me, and all the many questions you've asked and observations you've made.
(Little Brother isn't talking just yet, apart from 'cat, Daddy, banana', but we can build a meaningful exchange with that.)

Last weekend you and I talked about magic, and whether there is real magic or not. I confessed to writing the tiny fairy notes.
You said, "Yes, I thought it was you, but it's a good game, isn't it?"
Yes. It's a good game, but a better one followed when I taught you a couple of 'magic' tricks and you gave us all a conjuring show. The magic part of the magic is to keep the patter going and not to give away your secrets.
A good lesson for life? Aw heck, what have I taught you now?

You are concerned for me, living alone.
You asked me, "Do you talk to people when I'm not here? Not on the telephone, real people, I mean?" I told you I have friends, people come to see me, I go to see them, but I'm also happy on my own. A better lesson for life, hopefully.
Then you said, "Granny, I've had such a good idea. You could have a baby!"
I explained that old ladies can't have babies because they are meant to be grannies, not mothers. Old ladies can't do all the energetic things that mothers can do, but you fixed me with a steely glare and said, "Well, I think any baby in the world would be happy to live here!"
When you're a lot older you will realise what that remark meant to an arthritic old lady.

But next week you will be in school full-time.
How can that be, this incredible growth and development when it seems only a few weeks ago that you were learning to walk, just like Little Brother now?
And he too will race away, over the hills and vales of life, learning new skills every hour of every day.

Be safe and happy, both of you, on your feet, on your bikes, with your friends, in your classrooms.
And Granddaughter, thank you for  nearly five years of all the right sort of magic.

With love from Granny.

Letter to a New Grandchild.

                                         Big Sister and Daddy, making a splash.



Dear Very Small Grandchild,
Well, you're on your way, a tiny person with fingernails and elbows and knees that can move.
You have a lot of growing to do, and we need you to stay put, warm and safe and fed for another five and a bit months.
We will wait for you through the Spring and Summer, and then, by late Summer you will be ready to see sunshine and changing leaves. You will be ready to meet your family, although you will know their voices already. You will be familiar with your sister's voice because she uses it all the time, and she will want to talk to you and sing to you and teach you so many things. I think she will be a wonderful big sister for you, a great source of entertainment as well as a loving, caring person.
She is already gearing up for the role. In fact she was the person who gave me the official news. An evening phone call; "Annie, Annie - I'm going to be a big sister. The baby is very small, really small, so I have to wait. You have to wait, and Daddy...we all have to wait......but I'm going to be a BIG SISTER!"

In no time at all you will be joining in, crawling, walking, paddling in the sea, like your big sister before you in the photo. I realise anew how fleeting babyhood seems, and how precious is the time to enjoy it as a grandparent. Sometimes (or more than sometimes) as a parent, the days and nights are tough, exhausting, seemingly endless, but for a grandparent it's just plain wonderful.

But we will all have to wait.

You are already a very fortunate little baby. You will be born into a family that wants to give you so much. So much of everything, of life's experiences, of music, of books and friendships and fun.....and most of all of love.
See you later,
Love from Granny.

P.S. Grandson was born on 09.09.16 in one of the new NHS Birthing Centres, where he and his parents had two nights in a large room with double bed and birthing pool. Thank you, NHS midwives for impressive care throughout.
Everyone is well and very happy.

Letter to a Grand-Daughter now she is One (and a bit)

Dear Small Grand-daughter,

There is no need for you to know about the disconcerting things that have happened to you recently. You can relax, safe in the knowledge that you have been protected and loved and cared for with immense skill.
(But I, your very concerned Grand-mother, have been unable to write this blog, nor write anything else, nor concentrate very well on anything else for the past weeks.)
And you, oblivious, have carried us all along with your cheerfulness, your joy in life, your enthusiasm for fun and your increasing ability to create it, your enjoyment of music and soft toys and whacking things with a mallet, and your interest in other people.

You are such great company these days, finding everything fascinating, needing to comment on everything you see and do.Your favourite word is 'Daddy', and every sight of  him is something wonderful. How clever your mother is, to ensure that it's Daddy who is shouted for in the night (and how clever of your Daddy to not always wake up, no matter how loud the shout).

It's been a tough time for the many people who know you and love you, but hopefully we can all move on and look forward to your first fully-aware Christmas. I know you were here last year, but you were a little bundle with a big voice, needing mainly your mother who was meeting almost all your needs, leaving the rest of us as admiring and devoted spectators.
This year you will know the lights and the colours and the smells and tastes. You will know the thrill of tearing off wrapping paper and finding treasure inside, of glittering decorations and flickering candles. We will be infected by your joy, seeing things afresh through your eyes, for you bring new life and hope to us all.

Happy, happy Christmas, Little One,
and profound and grateful thanks to the skilled people here.
With love from Grandma.