By Angel Kane
Wilson Living Magazine
A few weeks before school ended, the kids started a countdown. “I can’t wait until Granny gets here,” was their mantra all of May, as I would hand them a slightly bruised banana while at the same time screaming at them to “get in the car,” as one more tardy and we were all going to Saturday school.
“She’s going to make us eggs and biscuits and not make us iron our own clothes in the morning,” mumbled my middle one. “We won’t have to get our clean towels from the dryer,” commented the youngest. “It’s going to be heaven,” noted our oldest who apparently has suffered the longest under our parentage.
And as I completely expected, Granny arrived on Memorial Day and things have not been the same!
Other than taking trips together or long holidays spent with my family, this is the first time all three of my children have experienced Granny much the way I did growing up. Which brings a huge smile to my face as there is a big difference between “Holiday Granny” and “I’m Coming To Stay For a Month Granny.”
Such a difference that my kids have now started another countdown.
When Granny first got here, it was just as they imagined. Eggs and biscuits in the morning, casseroles and cobbler in the evening and in between she would tell them how smart and pretty they were.
That was week one – while she was still on vacation.
Slowly, however, Granny has emerged from holiday mode to the mother I fondly remember.
Week two – she started cleaning.
And when I say cleaning, I don’t mean vacuuming. My mother cleans with buckets and dish rags – the on your knees – scrubbing down walls – type of cleaning. And when she is done she takes trash bags, the big black garden variety, and cleans out drawers, closets and cupboards.
Only after that, do we really start to clean.
And while Granny will certainly get down on her hands and knees with you, she much prefers to use young children to do her dirty work. Think the musical “Annie” where all the orphans are scrubbing the bathroom floor and you’ll then have a glimpse of how my brother and I spent our Saturdays.
Another treasured memory is Granny’s way of teaching you how “to do something the right way.” She lives to show you how to fold a fitted sheet, mend a hem or sew a button. And nothing makes Granny madder than opening the linen closet to find a big, wadded up ball of fitted sheets.
“Kids, come here and let me show you something!” has become her favorite line.
It’s funny how in less than 3 weeks the May mantra has now turned into hushed whispers the moment I get home.
“She made me try on all my clothes in the closet, every single one and then refold the ones that fit and put them up neatly,” relays my middle one, aghast at how the tides have turned against her.
Brody and I, on the other hand, are quite enjoying Granny’s extended stay.
Our floors are clean enough to eat off of, our perfectly folded towels smell like a dewy meadow, our home cooked meals are just divine and our children…well, let’s just say, the next time I throw a brown banana their way and call it breakfast…the words “thank you sweet Mother” will be flowing from their lips.