60. A spell on grandma

I’m returning to Beijing tomorrow. Ten days already, replenished by your light footsteps, the high notes of your voices, and of course laughter, the twittering that makes my heart dance. Tender hours contemplating how recreation unrolls itself, also the mess in the rooms after you’ve devised new games, your bodies leaping over the furniture, the vibrant animation of your spirits as they recreate themselves at every chance they get. Easily amazed, your minds astonished at the smallest events, noticing joyful details where one would least expect them. Your hands like a caress, open to escapades on the surface of the world around you. So much giggling resonating through spaces you widen, and strong hugs absorbed by my skin as you deploy happiness like a net to catch me. Erasing time. Days transformed into short minutes, never feeling the pressure of existence. Simply beaming, enthralled by the motion of your beings, little pioneers drawing the maps of new coasts so to gambol even further.

I’m sad when I realize I never could enjoy playtime with a similar intensity when my own children were of school age, preoccupied and busy with work, cleaning, cooking, the laundry. The single mother running around to meet deadlines, pay the rent, the groceries. Responsible for rules, studies, behavior, safety, health, transportation, extracurricular activities. Bosses’ demands. Long hours to make a living. Professional imponderables. Extended family neuroses and crises. The unexpected. Constantly suctioned. My body’s strength siphoned by a universe of appetites. Never enough. Daily dictates fully draining energies. Hardly any left at the end of the day to understand what pleasure and relaxation could involve. Beyond my grasp.

So it is a novelty, this adventure as a liberated grand-mother. Free to appreciate the charm of childhood. Treasuring the connection. A presence tailored for lighthearted moods. Myself available, your cheerfulness accessible. Brazen. No where to go but here, by your side, attending to your chuckles and frisky manners. My eyes on a swing propelled by winds of amusement, sweeping across your crystal clear shouts like when you spin and roll, bounce on the balcony, tousled and out of breath, your smiles as large as my joy to have seen you topple for fun, with bravery, a sense of achievement emanating as you wink at me, the accomplice.

In the long itinerary up to your births, there was often that hope. A moment that would come to be, where I would rest, contemplative and satisfied. Annulling trials and tribulations. A clean slate. Lapses of memory, only paying tribute to what’s in attendance. You and my children on their way to serendipity.

These past ten days have gone so fast. I will continue to hear the ripples of your glee once I’m back home. All my brain cells imbued with the brightness of your voices. As only luggage, your touch and jocular gentleness. And your sunny gaze. And your good natures. And, and.

Laolao