I looked at the clock as I trudged through the kitchen after entertaining granddaughters all day. Five-fifteen and dinner wasn't ready; in fact, it wasn't started. What to do with four lively little divas who hadn't begun to slow down? For two days they had done their favorite things: cooked in my kitchen, lit candles, served tea from silver pots, drunk out of “breakable” cups, plundered my jewelry, paraded around in my shoes, tried on my clothes, and dabbled in my makeup— pillaging anything that wasn’t theirs. And generally disturbing the tranquility I have created for myself in our manageable empty nest. There was one thing left, one ace harbored in my back pocket.
My jacuzzi.
When I told them they could have bubbles in the big bathtub, it was a gymkhana of little girls to see who could strip down naked and be in the tub first. I relaxed and tried to remember what was for dinner as the sound of squeals, giggles, and splashing ensued. A LOT of squealing, giggling and splashing. I turned the burner to "low" under the taco meat I was browning and went to check out the ruckus.
The first sight I encounter in my personal sanctuary is water puddling on the floor despite the five towels strewn around in an attempt to manage it. Two bars of soap lie melting in the sink. Garments are flung around like confetti. What I don't see are four little girls, but I assume they are buried in the three-foot mountain of bubbles created by dumping the entire contents of Dr. Shoal's eucalyptus and mint bath salts and turning the water jets to "max."
"Girls!" I yell over the rumble of the jets. I see hands parting the froth and four delighted faces poking through, displaying their foamy beards. I open my mouth to begin the lecture on how much damage water can do to a pine floor (which might beg the question why anyone would put pine floors there in the first place), and how wasteful it is to use a whole bottle of bath bubbles, and whose clothes are whose anyway, and...
I realize pilfering through my stuff is what these children do--although my children never did. But my children were all boys! They preferred to explore their dad's fishing tackle box, dig through his sock drawer, beg to drive his tractor. Little people exploring their future world.
My attitude changes. I am immensely blessed by having the opportunity to invest in our grandchildren's lives.
I have the privilege of launching them safely and innocently into a woman's world. My heart is touched to realize I can help introduce them gently into their future womanhood, preserving their innocence (and most of my stuff) while letting them probe into the world they will one day inhabit.
Thank heaven for little girls.
Working in the lab.
Learning the basics.
Fancy Nancies.