An ordinary day ...
My granddaughter arrived this morning, unlocking the front door, tiptoeing in to drop off her travel bag, laptop and the bulk of her books before tiptoeing out and down the street to her college classroom. Exam week. Exam week spent studying and prepping at "grandma's house, where it's quiet." Her words.She's been here a lot: most of last semester, Monday through Thursdays, and this semester, in part for school and in part to take of me during my illness and recovery. It's noisy at her home; sharing a room with a sister on a whacky schedule, a brother full of 16-year-old noise and angst and emotional issues, and a dad on a whacky schedule waxing and waning between work and short-term layoffs. I have become the oasis.
It works out well, since I too am in the middle of catch-up with school and the time I lost to my illness. Scrambling to write, read, annotate, evaluate, calculate completion of the required aspects...I am huddled over my desktop, she over her laptop. We meet and mingle as we prepare lunch or supper, or take a break. I am here to mentor, advise, answer questions, explain what I can from my vantage of years and experience.
Tonight we joined forces to bake a cake, to create a temporary sugar fix, laughing at the fact that I still haven't replace my large mixing bowl, my old-fashioned egg beater, my large measuring cup and my electric mixer since the they burned up in the fire. I gave up measuring a long time ago, and use a wire whisk for everything. I am teaching her my culinary tricks. Meanwhile we are nibbling cold General Tso Chicken that we made for lunch today (Grandma's version, without the breading and with extra veggies).
Tomorrow she writes her paper on nationalism and studies for exams in Calculus, Art and Psychology. Zoology was today; Lab Exams were last week. She is a science major, Dean's list and some national honor organization. I am proud of her.
Next fall both my granddaughters will be here; they can't afford the price of dorm rooms on top of tuition so they come here, staying over as needed, camping out on my living room floor. Twice as many books and clothes and bookbags neatly stacked where I will not trip over them.
When our home burned, Brandi, who was left with the shirt on her back, cried, and then dusted herself off and went to school the next day, in her best friend's borrowed clothes. She did her homework, helped with the salvage, ended her year of wild transition as 16th in her class of 800+.
I held her hand when came into thew world at a mere three pounds, and she held mine just two months ago when I was critically ill. We have this bond...
She'll tiptoe out quietly Wednesday morning for more of those three hour exams. I'll listen to efforts to be "quiet as a mouse" and smile. I am so proud of her.