Bobbing Along

I have been packed for weeks. If I need a favorite outfit, I head to the guest bedroom where my suitcase lies in wait, rummaging through the carefully folded lumpily piled clothes until I locate what I wish to wear.

I have been extraordinarily diligent about laundry and bills, keeping up with those daily details with more efficiency than ever in my life. I buy just enough food for a day or two, not wanting to leave stuff to spoil while I am away. I even regularly clean the house. That statement is more telling than I should care to admit.

And I continue to wait. For the call. For the call that says Get your sweet ass up here, Bob! I am in labor and this baby is finally coming! It will be a true blend of excitement and relief for everyone involved to hear those words, not the least of which for my daughter, Child #3, who can no longer tie her own shoes. Thankfully her husband is happy to assist.

They are as ready as any new parents are able to be. The nursery is good to go. The baby clothes are sorted and gently washed. Each room of their apartment, meaning all three rooms, sports some piece of baby equipment. Their trendy loft apartment now screams FAMILY LIVES HERE! FAMILY WITH INFANT!! SHUSSSH!!! All we need now is the infant.

Meanwhile, in between those swift—though not graceful, no, not at all graceful—leaps for the ringing phone, I content myself with a bit of studio work as well as spending time with my other two grandchildren. The Peanut Princess and I “facetime” a lot. If she doesn’t call me, I call her. We talk for a little bit, well, I talk, she giggles; then she asks for Elmo, one of her favorite apps. Before I know it, I have been cut off. It is amazing how easily a not-quite-two-year-old can negotiate the iPhone/iPad. Her favorite part is the off button. Now she sees me. Now she doesn’t.

She recently got her hairs cut which was only a bit traumatic. The iPhone helped soothe her ruffled feathers. And, of course, the trip after to her favorite park ensured a complete recovery.

Then there’s the Rooster who signed up to play soccer this fall. Dear Dave, his camera, and I were able to attend the first game. These four- and five-year-olds may well turn the soccer world completely on its rear. There is much to learn, beginning with wardrobe issues—keeping the shin guards attached…

…and avoiding getting the cleats tangled in the net…

…and, uh, just how much fun is it to try running through the net?

 …also, point. Point your fingers to YOUR goal. THAT’S where you want to run when you have the ball…

…oh, and look, Coach! I have ears! Orange ones!!…

The Rooster has to pay attention to the coach. After all, she is his mom.

So, yes, there are plenty of things going on to keep me amused. Expect further updates, especially when the new little guy finally makes his appearance!

 Wait. Is that the phone? (leap.) (crash.) Telemarketer. Damn.