I sat outside on Monday afternoon and watched three of my grandkids play ball with each other in my driveway. It was a Monday holiday, and they had spent the day at my house. Every time there was a lull in the indoor activity — in other words, between snacks and meals — they were outside playing. They had a wonderful time! Football! Badminton! And even volleyball with a very deflated ball! They couldn’t seem to get enough of it! It made me wonder if they would remember the day. It was wonderful in so many ways and yet so ordinary and easy to forget.
And then there was another question too, a much larger one: What would they remember of me?
And so, as the balls bounced back and forth, so did my thoughts, to my history with these kids, to my own Bubbie and childhood, and to the future.
Historically, Mondays have been the day that grandkids spend time at my house from 9:00 until 4:00. They call me Marmel and we call such days of togetherness Marmel School. I have always run the day with a set schedule. I hoped this gave them the comfort of a routine, of knowing what to expect. This was important when they were little and new to being away from their mommies.
In the earliest days of Marmel School, we had free play followed by singing. Morning snack came next — Froot Loops served in red heart-shaped bowls. Then it was craft time and lunch. And after lunch we had the fan favorite — a special dessert that we call the egg box. Each child got an egg carton with a different candy in each of the twelve slots. Then I read them a story or two and sent them off to the least favorite part of the day, nap time. When they woke up, we played some more, in a different room with different toys from the morning — or in the summer we had water play outside — and then the moms came to pick them up.
Marmel School has morphed and morphed through the fifteen years of its existence as new kids were born into the family. It continues to morph as the kids grow older. Five of the ten grandkids are teenagers now. Suffice it to say, they do not come to a nursery-school-like day at my house. Of the remaining five, four are eleven-years-old and one is seven. Egg boxes are still a true favorite part of the day as is nap time’s replacement, TV time. Oh, and let’s not forget those Froot Loops! I have a deep suspicion that these elements are what convince them to come over on Monday holidays.
Clearly, though, these rock-a-bye-babies are soon to rock out of Marmel School altogether. What will they remember of all these ordinary but wonderful days together?
I flash back to memories of my own childhood, of playing with my cousins at my Bubbie’s house. Wallball and stepball! Mimsies and clapsies! Lots of hide-n-seek! Olly olly oxen free, everybody come in free! I don’t remember a specific day, but lots of them, melded together into the happiness of my childhood.
I had candy too — after Friday night dinners Grandpa would reach into his pocket and pull out what seemed like an ENORMOUS handful of change. He gave it all to the nine of us kids, allowing us to go buy penny candy at Ray’s Delicatessen on the corner. The only stipulation was that we had to buy him the evening paper with our stash of cash.
Truthfully, Bubbie isn’t exactly a part of these memories. She was just the nice lady in the kitchen, cooking. Of course, as an adult, I see her as the heart and soul of it all. Had she not cooked dinner for the family every Friday night, to whom would Grandpa have passed out all those coins? How would those memories have been made?
I come to see women of this ilk — my mom was one as well — as if they are wallpaper. They are always there in the background. But here’s the good news: Wallpaper isn’t going anywhere. You can leave and come back two years later and the wallpaper is still there. Very steady stuff, that wallpaper.
So I guess that’s what I am hoping for with my ten Marmelettes — soon all to be graduates of Marmel School — that they remember me fondly there in the background, creating a place for the good times to roll.
