Grandmother Hospital Bag Checklist

There are a million checklists on the internet for Moms to Be and even Dads to Be. What Your Nursery Needs, What You Need to Know About Delivery, even Baby Essentials.

But what about grandmothers? Where are our lists? They are very few and far between. Actually, they might not exist. I surely can't find one. This isn't a tragedy because as a soon-to-be-grandma, we are well adapted to figuring things out on the fly. I mean, we've raised children.

We've had all manner of insanity tossed at us for decades - broken down cars, sick babies, potty training, last minute science projects, puberty meltdowns. When presented with chaos, we are like Marines: we adapt and overcome. 

Still, if you are about to become a grandmother for the first time, a little help would be appreciated. 

Going to the hospital for the birth of a grandbaby is exhilarating and nerve wracking. It's also complicated. Are you the paternal or maternal grandmother? It will be different for each. What to expect?

As the paternal grandmother, barring that your daughter-in-law is on her own, there is much less to do. Your hospital bag will more than likely get you thru hours in the waiting room. 

As the maternal grandmother, chances are you will be in the delivery room. Your role is delicate. You are there to SUPPORT, not take over. Your son-in-law, for the first delivery anyway, might be overwhelmed and scared. Encourage him, make quiet suggestions, offer ideas, but read the room. If you see they need some alone time, take a break and hang out with the other grandmother in the waiting room.

What to Pack:

1. Warm Socks
2. Slippers or slip-on shoes
3. Comfy Change of Clothes
4. Sweater or Sweatshirt
5. Compression Socks (these will keep your feet from getting sore from standing or swelling from sitting)
6. Earbuds (slipping this in your ears gives the parents-to-be privacy)
7. Chargers for all electronics
8. Small Blanket
9. Travel Pillow
10. Eye Mask
11. Travel Makeup and Remover Wipes
12. Deodorant
13. Comb/Brush
14. Toothbrush/Toothpaste/Mouthwash
15. Lip balm (for yourself and mom-to-be)
16. Prescription/OTC Medications (set an alarm to remember to take it)
17. Cough Drops/Gum
18. Book or Magazine
19. Change for Vending Machines
20. Snacks that don't have a strong odor (your mother-to-be cannot eat during labor so don't torture her!) Think trail mix, grapes, an apple, crackers, Belvita bars, etc.
21. Lotion, hand sanitizer
22. Small mirror for mom-to-be to use after delivery and before visitors
23. List of people you are supposed to keep in the loop. Don't assume you'll remember; things get exciting and you might forget someone. 

If you're the one who's allowed in the delivery room, make sure to keep the other grandmother informed. Text her, go sit with her some. She's a part of this too!

Other things to remember:

1. Try to stay rested in the days leading up to the due date. You will be needed!
2. As the day approaches, organize a group of your friends to help you clean the mom-to-be's house. Laundry, floors, scrub toilets, cook casseroles for the freezer. 
3. Ask your child what they need from you. Don't assume. Be humble. This is their little family now; they make the rules. 
4. If your child has children already, spend the days leading up to delivery keeping your toddler entertained. Mom-to-be is probably exhausted. 
5. Encourage the happy couple to take birthing classes. They are invaluable!

As I edit this post one last time before publishing, my son called to tell me my fifth grandbaby might be making an appearance tonight! Glad I have my list!

Fifty-second Birthday

Today is, was, my fifty-second birthday. It is the end of the day and the sun has just finished setting. The stars are starting to appear overhead. I’m in my hammock, alone for the first time today.

My life is a dream. It is the dream a little girl with glasses and long pigtails didn’t know she was allowed to have. One of my most distinct childhood memories is of being alone outside. We had a metal swing set for a time until wasps built a nest in the crossbar, making it unusable. The wind was blowing and I was letting it push me. There was a sense of loneliness, of stillness.

Tonight I’m letting the slight breeze rock the hammock and I’m listening to the dwindling birdsong and the rising symphony of crickets and frogs. The cat is beside me purring. The night is so still. I am alone but there is no loneliness. I’ve spent the day with my people. I’ve loved and been loved. I’ve had hugs and put little ones in time out. I’ve been pampered.

Now they are gone to their own homes and Chris is at work.

This is the year that leads up to fifty-three. The age my mother was when she died. I am feeling some kinda way about that. I guess I have a year to get it untangled.

I see Mars. I smell my flowers. Gregory Alan Isakov is singing Sweet Heat Lighting just loud enough for me to hear him. Oh! I just saw a shooting star.

God is near and life is a gift.

Grateful Introspection

Sometimes when a person is expressing gratitude, others call their words a "humble brag". Ty explained this to me. The person is actually bragging but contriving to make it appear as simple, and humble, gratitude. 

This phrase, "humble-brag", while it may be accurate, has a negative effect on other people. One cannot be truly grateful for something and express that joy without fearing how it might appear. This, in turn, leads to much less gratitude in the world. FOMO (another word from my children meaning "Fear of Missing Out") paralyses gratitude. Or at the very least, the expression thereof. 

There are moments in life (mine, at least, I cannot speak for others), when the thankfulness wells up and spills over. My friend, Quinn, told me these are moments of Shalom, when things are as they should be. 

I stood outside tonight as the sun was setting. I stood under the Party Tree, now well over twenty feet tall. I stood under this oak tree where the birds were flitting from branch to branch, where the shade was just so, where the small iron chairs from Uncle Don are positioned, and let the peacefulness of the moment soak into my heart. This is the tree I ordered from the Arbor Day Foundation and Chris planted when it was 12 inches tall. This is the tree that started growing when there were no other trees in the man-made hilltop of our front yard. This is the tree my kids used as their pivot point when riding their bikes. This is the tree we hung lights in for Brendan and Rhema's reception. This tree marks the starting point of our life in this house; a measurable, significant, assessable gauge of time. 

My childhood was chaotic and lonely with moments of tranquility. This is probably because my mother was chaotic and, I suspect, lonely, but with moments of tranquility. As I near my 49th birthday next week, I am introspective. I can't help but draw comparisons between my life and my mother's life. I cannot say what she felt on her 49th birthday, but I know it was only three years before she died in a way that gave me PTSD. I know she was mentally ill and angry and almost destitute. I know she exhibited a frantic obsession with leaving us a legacy. 

Today as I stood under our tree I looked at my house. The house Chris, with the help of others, built with his sweat and exhaustion. The house that is now over twenty years old. The house that Maggie said the front of was "#goals". And as I stood and looked around me, I couldn't stop my words.

Thank you, Father, for this house. Thank you for the gift of a home for my family.

Thank you for the flowers that you taught me to grow.

Thank you for the tree that towers over me and gives shelter to the birds.

Thank you for Uncle Don and the generosity of his heart in giving us these sweet chairs. 

Thank you for the cats and the dog who want to be near me.

Thank you for the grass that grows without prickles and is soft under my feet.

Thank you for the woods that surround me and shelter me from the world.

Thank you for the gift of family close by, volitional and other.

Thank you for the sidewalk that my grandchildren will one day draw on with chalk.

Thank you for stillness of the air and the blueness of the sky.

Thank you for this... life. This sweet, precious, peaceful life. This life that I could have never envisioned when I was young and lonely and confused. This life that is also filled with worries and cares and fears and opportunities to trust You.

Thank you, Father, for this taste of heaven until I can be with you in the true and complete Shalom. 

I am so grateful.

A Different Kind of Grief

 My friend has died. I have tried to convince myself that he was just a resident and that our relationship was firmly within the boundaries of old person/caregiver. But that is all rot. He was my friend and it was not his time.

It is strange to so deeply grieve a person no one outside of work knew. To wade through the molasses of grief on my own, with no one to comfort or to be comforted by. When the grief snatches my breath, I push through because the ones who love me best did not know him, do not grieve him.

He was so funny. He was clever, witty, smart, snarky, and sassy. He had a habit of forgetting to glue his dentures in and having to talk around them while they flopped. He was known for his dancing. He snickered and shook when trying to tell a story he thought was particularly entertaining. With one raised eyebrow, he expressed his horror or disbelief or mischief. One quick side-eye and I was hard pressed to keep my composure. His sarcasm was my delight.

He shared his sorrow over never having children and his relief at never remarrying after his one disastrous attempt. He told me about the red-haired woman his grandfather ran away with and the beauty of his mother who died when he was just a teenager. He was dismayed by his own snobbery and impatience with people, and he was quick to apologize when he lost his temper. He was fiercely proud of his twin, even while trying to seem detached. 

He spoke his mind. He spoke only the truth and displayed what it looked like to not shrink back. He loved Jesus and sorrowed his own sin and failure. He had a teddy bear he named "Dumb-ass" who made sure to remind him of all the Dumb-ass things he had done in his life. He lived with his pride and his repentance held openly and firmly for anyone to see. 

I will miss helping his remake his bed every week because the housekeeper never did it to his liking. I will miss the conversations while he sat in his favorite chair and I sat on his blue velvet sofa with CrimeTV blaring in the background. I will miss his encyclopedic knowledge of Birmingham's Southside.  I will miss his sarcastic comments under his breath during every concert. I will miss his go-to phrase of "Oh, hell". I will miss him trying not to smile at my antics and costumes and bad puns. I will miss his tenderness towards his friends, the way he helped them out of their depressions. I will miss his smile and the twinkle in his eyes. 

We were three weeks away from him getting to meet Chris. Three weeks away from the Covid booster that would have probably have saved his life. Three weeks from Halloween when he would have laughed at my Wonder Woman costume. Three weeks. Just three small weeks. 

I fell in love with him. Never romantically, but the way a daughter falls in love with her dad, or the way two friends with like-souls fall in love when they finally meet. I loved him and cannot wait for the day when I walk into heaven and hear him say with his hand on his hip, "Well it's about damn time." 

It is strange to grieve so alone. It hurts a little extra for it. 

I will miss my friend. What a gift he was.  

Don't Listen, Then Listen

 I listen too much to what other people say about me and expect from me. 

I've been told so many times that I'm not a baker or that I'm not crafty or that I can't cook. I remember being told that I'm not athletic. Or that I'm messy and disorganized. I heard it, absorbed it, and believed it. I have said those things about myself many times. I even named one of my Pinterest boards, "Yummy Food I Will Never Cook". 

The truth of the matter is that I'm not as good a baker as many people are. There are people I know who are craftier than I am. I don't have high levels of body awareness and athleticism. Etc, etc.

But...

I have discovered that by eschewing those judgments I can achieve things I never dreamed. 

In the past few months I have:

1. learned to bake bread 

2. baked cookies and made pies

3. decorated entire areas beautifully and to other people's delight

4.  allowed myself to try new things

5. created art 

6. organized a huge work area that makes life easier for my co-workers

7. found exercise to be fun

8. made lots of Christmas bows

9. designed and made more than a dozen centerpieces for the holidays

10. begun to learn to not listen to negative voices, whether those voices are in my own head, or in the form of jokes and put downs. 

I don't have to put disclaimers on myself. I don't have to tell anyone. I can just do the things I love and try things I've never tried. Without shame. Without fear of failure. Without worry. I have learned to ask myself, "What do I want?" It is exhilarating and exciting and freeing. Chris has been trying to tell me this for two decades. I'm slow, but I'm catching on.

I'm learning new languages. Trying new recipes. Baking cookies. Painting. Running. Trying new things. It took being very alone for a long time to finally wake up and look around. I truly don't need anything from anybody. I have everything I need in Christ. I have approval (there's no shame here). I have delight (no disappointed looks or put downs). I have the smile of Creator God (why not try something new?). I have his constant presence (I am not rejected.) I have forgiveness and freedom in every area of my life. What have I to fear?

"Don't fear, for I have redeemed you; I have called you by name; you are mine." Isaiah 43:1

Do I mess up the bread or burn the cookies or misplace the photo backdrop? Yes. When those things happen are they confirmation of all the things said about me? No. Those things cannot touch me. Not the real me. The loved me. I am still broken, screwed up, sinful. But I am so loved. So very, very loved. He has called me by name. By. My. Name. I am his. And his voice is louder and truer and closer and more real than the  others. What have I to fear?

A Snapshot of My Evening

Tonight is the night before Ty's wedding. We spent most of the day at the Bartz's house, putting up the tent, setting out the candles, getting ready. We stayed over for supper of Election Lunch. 

Now we are home. Chris and I prepped thirty potatoes to bake tomorrow. Chris ironed dress shirts for Ty and Zac while I prepped all the brunch food for the wedding morning. Now we are sitting in the living room. Chris leaning on the white couch. John sitting on the white couch. Ty in one wing back, me in the other. Zac and Gracie are on the orange couch and we're watching the SEC Championship game (Alabama vs Florida). Well, we're actually chatting while keeping up with the game. Every time someone says something funny, Brody laughs from his room where he's playing video games and "participating" with us. Zac says it's like a having a laugh track. 

It's a sweet night. Only missing Mags and Scott. 

Tomorrow The Boy gets married. What a sweetness.

A Day in the Shady Sunshine with My Friend

Today started as a bad day. A hard day. A day that tears kept leaking out against the will. Today started as a sad day. But today, this afternoon, I sat in the shade of lovely trees and the scent of flowers and held the hand of a gentle and kind elderly woman who misses her family and was also having a hard day. Today, we walked outside, sat in metal chairs (me with a cushion, blue, and her without a cushion at all) underneath an oak tree and held hands. It was perfectly silent. Perfectly peaceful. We looked at the clouds, with my friend pointing occasionally to a particularly fluffy one and we smiled at each other when the wind would pick up and cool us off. Today started as a bad day, but today ended on a peaceful, hushed note of perfect soul communion and I was reminded of my Savior looking down at me and smiling because I am His and He is mine.