Grandchildren.

Somehow I woke up the other day with 5 children and 4 grandchildren.

Not sure how that happened.

My two oldest grandchildren are pretty much adults. One graduated from high school a couple years ago and the other one graduates this Spring. They’re both boys. The oldest wants to work in audio engineering, and the youngest is going into the Navy.

The two newest grandchildren are 7 months and not-quite two weeks old. They are both girls.

The girls live in other states, and earlier this week Julie and I had the rare experience of being in separate parts of the country visiting our grandchildren.

I had planned a visit to California to spend a few days with our granddaughter Cookie, who was born last July. And Julie was waiting for news that Marianna was arriving so she could fly to Florida and spend a week helping there.

Between the snow and an early delivery, both dates arrived almost simultaneously. Julie headed south. I headed west.

We had last seen Cookie (real name Colette Cordrey Jean Sammons) when she was just a few weeks old, and the difference between a 3 week old and a 7 month old is astonishing.

Notwithstanding that she is a genius and probably an Olympic level athlete, her transformation from a cuddly, but mostly still, baby….to a non-stop ball of energy and enthusiasm that wants to touch and explore EVERYTHING, was amazing.

I had the best time.

We walked and went to restaurants and a farmers market and the beach and a coffee shop, sat around a fire pit and did so much. The best times though were on the floor or on the bed with her just being Cookie and me just being G-Pop.

Julie arrived in Florida when Marianna (full name Marianna Rose Guzman) was less than 24 hours old, and got to experience all the new baby things that we last experienced almost 18 years ago with Mary.

Marianna has a Ukrainian mommy, a Colombian daddy, and is a beauty with dark black hair…and lots of it.

Being a grandparent sneaks up on you. One day you’re going over the river and through the woods to grandmother’s house. The next day it’s your house and you hope the horse remembers the way.

I have some great memories of my grandparents, and I hope we can create some great ones for our grands.

Being a grandparent is like being a parent but without the pressure. The baby cries, you give her back. She needs a new diaper…sorry, not my gig.

I had forgotten how a baby changes the center of gravity in a home. Life gets reorganized. A baby requires a lot, and all at once. Planning anything now includes feeding and nap times, and what used to be important now moves to the edges.

What changes most though, is the heart.

Everyone’s plans are now secondary to the babies needs, and you are completely ok with it. Our adult children didn’t just bring the baby home. The baby IS home.

As a Grandparent, we’re not the ones up all night but there’s a new rhythm that we also adjust to. Our kids now start to understand why we did things or said things, and our relationship with them moves to another level. It’s unspoken but you feel it.

I am so proud of our kids who now have kids of their own. There will be some biting of the tongue…by us and by them, and the little ones will be oblivious, not suspecting that they have changed everything.

We had our chance. Good or bad…or should I say, good AND bad…our job is done. Now it’s their turn. They’ll get it right and they’ll get it wrong, but I have no doubt these amazing adults we were blessed to have in our lives are more than capable of raising the next iteration of our names and DNA.

It’s going to be so fun to watch.

We’re really enjoying this new chapter of our lives, and already planning our next visits.

Here’s to cheap flights and bonus miles!

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“If You’re A Grandparent Who’s Lucky”

(a poem for every grandparent)

If you’re lucky,

life gives you a second chance

at holding tiny hands—

this time, with slower steps

and a fuller heart.

It lets you love

without the pressure to be perfect.

To rock them just because,

not just to get them to sleep.

To say yes a little more,

and worry a little less.

If you’re lucky,

you get to see your child

become a parent—

and in their tired eyes,

you remember your own long nights.

And you whisper,

“You’re doing just fine.”

If you’re lucky,

you get to sit on the floor again

(even if it takes longer to get back up).

You get to laugh over nothing,

sing the same song ten times,

and find magic in bubbles and blocks.

You learn that love grows deeper

when it’s stretched across generations.

That time really does fly—

and this time,

you’re holding on tighter.

If you’re lucky,

you’ll be called by a name

only they use—

and it’ll become your favorite sound in the world.

Because it’s not just about

being their grandparent.

It’s about being their soft place.

Their safe arms.

Their story keeper.

If you’re lucky,

you’ll realize that this—

this sacred, simple, ordinary kind of love—

is the very best part of life.

And friend,

if you’re reading this and nodding your head…

I hope you know:

You’re the lucky one.