Being older.

Hard to accept that while I could, for many decades, gracefully squat then rise with my knees together, I now begin to squat, then fall on my butt. Getting up takes a few adjustments, all of them resembling a spastic crab.

But…. I can somehow get to the floor and be present in the play of a child. 

There were years I read my girls many chapters at a go of my favorites, and I loved sharing old books with them.

But…I can still read preschool books to the grandkids-the very same books I read to their parents.

The quantities of treats I made for my kids to share was quite honestly, a little psycho. Hundreds of decorated, chocolate dipped Oreos each was routine. There were times I pulled all nighters making the perfect birthday cakes.

Now, I cook with the grandkids when I can and we make smaller memories together. 

I can still play play-doh with them, at the little table. One day, the kid chair I sit in will break, due to poor workmanship for sure. I pretty much flip my OCD off and many times skip the top to bottom weekly housecleaning so I will have time to just sit and watch a kid swim. I am tired when they leave but it is always a very excellent day when the house is full of happy kid noise.

I can be their biggest cheerleader, and I can love them so much, and pray for them so much, that hopefully, they miss life’s biggest heartbreaks. I can be there for them until I am not, hope that my love made a difference. And never for an instant forget that I am one of the very lucky ones.