Memoirous

We’re past the equinox, officially spring—even though we had one of those probable snow storms that always sweep through this time of year. You know, the ones that make us bow our heads in despair, that dashes our hopes. But not the firm and steady stalks of daffodils or grape hyacinth. They know what to expect and are prepared. Oh, we of little faith. With the time change, there’s more light at the end of the day. Thus, I can come home from work and feel like doing something, rather than switching out of work clothes and into pajamas. But the time change has wreaked havoc on my young grandson’s sleep schedule. Remember the Big Boy Bed ? He’s now an apostate after a quick conversion. He will not stay in it for the entire night. No one is getting sleep these days, as the baby is also teething. My son-in-law told me that Jack climbs the stairs up to their room and takes the blankets off his feet and says: It’s looking like daytime. When actually it’s 3 a.m. There’s no invitin...

Finally two days off, in a row. Forty-eight hours to get caught up with Zoom calls, writing, laundry, grocery shopping, maybe a TV program, find something in the shed, rehang the picture that keeps falling down, perhaps go for a run, pick up the handicraft I put down and haven’t picked back up for a month. I checked in with my daughter after breakfast—we live across the back deck from each other. As soon as I slid open the glass door into her kitchen she handed me the baby. Can you hold Remy while I drive Jack to nursery school? Sure. Later, again, can you hold him while I put in a load of laundry. Okay. He has a Bumbo, an activity saucer, and a rocking sling back chair that also plays lullabies, but, hey, he’s cute in his little T-shirt that says I’m New Here. Or the one that says Hello World! Or his Dismantle the Patriarchy onesie. I can’t help but hold him. If I’m home all day long I get pinged to come over for this or that. Sometimes it’s did you eat dinner, do you want to eat ...