Waiting

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WAITING

        Serene, I fold my hands and wait,
        Nor care for wind, nor tide, nor sea;
        I rave no more 'gainst time or fate,
        For, lo! my own shall come to me.
         
        I stay my haste, I make delays,
        For what avails this eager pace?
        I stand amid the eternal ways,
        And what is mine shall know my face.
         
        Asleep, awake, by night or day,
        The friends I seek are seeking me;
        No wind can drive my bark astray,
        Nor change the tide of destiny.
         
        What matter if I stand alone?
        I wait with joy the coming years;
        My heart shall reap where it hath sown,
        And garner up its fruit of tears.
         
        The waters know their own and draw
        The brook that springs in yonder height;
        So flows the good with equal law
        Unto the soul of pure delight.
         
        The stars come nightly to the sky;
        The tidal wave unto the sea;
        Nor time, nor space, nor deep, nor high,
        Can keep my own away from me.

                               ~ John Burroughs (1837-1921)

Bubby, Baby Mac, and Megan will be here Sunday. I can't wait.

Yet, I have no choice but to do exactly that.

Today's fill-in-the-blank:

I can't wait for __________.

Olivia

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Author and illustrator Ian Falconer has created a beloved picture book character named Olivia. She's a pig. A delightful pig who stars in a series of picture books.

Olivia does all kinds of things that capture the imaginations of pint-sized readers (and their parents) such as forming a band, going to Venice, saving the circus, and more. The ever-charming Olivia has earned Caldecott honors for her creator.

Bubby loves Olivia.

I tell you that not as a review of the Olivia series in any way. I tell you that because Bubby got a new babysitter.

And her name is Olivia.

And Bubby was thrilled by the news! He thought Olivia—the pig!—would be coming to his house to watch over him and Baby Mac while Mommy was away.

Of course, Mommy had to ruin the fun by explaining the reality of the situation to Bubby. Olivia, the new sitter and the first Bubby would have outside of family and friends, was a high-school girl. Not a pig.

So, once Olivia—the girl—arrived for duty, introductions were made, and Mommy spent some time acquainting Olivia with Bubby, with Baby Mac.

Then Mommy was out the door for her tennis lesson.

When Mommy returned, all reports were great.

Olivia loved Bubby. Olivia loved Baby Mac.

(Although, how could she not, with charges as precious as Gramma's favorite little TV watchers.)

And everyone loved her back:

Megan loved Olivia.

Baby Mac loved Olivia.

Best of all, Bubby loved Olivia.

Even though she's not a pig.

Olivia graphic courtesy Simon & Shuster.

Today's question:

How old were you when you started making money as a babysitter?

And marked it with a B

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Grandparents Day was last Sunday, as I mentioned here. Recognizing the day has not yet caught on for many, it seems, possibly because it smacks ever-so-slightly of commercial gimmickry, despite its authentic origins.

I have to own up to having a smidgen of cynicism about the whole affair myself. That is, until Jim and I received our first "Happy Grandparents Day" care package from Bubby and Baby Mac last week.

When the actual day came and went last Sunday with no phone call from Megan and the boys, I gave it a minor "Meh..." and moved on, figuring it's not that big of a deal.

Then, in the next day's mail came this:

Megan had worked with Bubby and Baby Mac to create a special Grandparents Day gift package for Gramma and PawDad. Bubby couldn't decide between chocolate chip cookies or cookies with sprinkles so they combined the two for a delicious delight. They also crafted a flower made of hand and feet imprints—which now has a place of honor on the refrigerator door—and included a Grandparent's Day greeting card, marked especially sweet with a B, which Bubby has been practicing to master. (Note: Although Bubby's real name may not be Bubby, it does indeed begin with a B.)

I can now attest my "Meh..." about Grandparents Day has been replaced with "Mmm..." and topped off with a generous dollop of "Awwww!"

Today's question:

When it comes to holidays and other special days, which are you most cynical about?

8 signs fall is nearly here

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COMING THIS FALL!1. I had to throw on a sweater over my jammies while watching TV last night.

2. The USAFA Thunderbird jets have been loudly cavorting overhead, practicing for their shows of support during Air Force Falcon football games.

3. Visions of pumpkin bread have started dancing in my head.

4. Windows throughout the house are no longer left open at night.

5. Piles of catalogs arrive in the mail each day as retailers rally for holiday dollars.

6. Fall crafts are on clearance at Hobby Lobby as, typical of craft stores, current season decor is so last month.

7. I've given up watering annuals in the yard—flowers that never grew well, many that never even flowered at all, thanks to the blistering, record-setting heat of this past summer.

8. Best of all: Megan is lonesome for home...and has planned a trip here with Bubby and Baby Mac in a few weeks because fall is her favorite time of year in Colorado.

Mine, too!

Today's question:

What signals have you experienced of fall's impending arrival?

Bubbles, Bubby, and the final frontier

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I have a pretty large bubble—the amount of personal space I need around me. Strangers and folks with whom I'm not intimate best stay at arm's length or I get crabby, uncomfortable, anxious.

Folks I love the very most are welcome to enter my bubble any time they want, of course...as long as they don't dwell there too long.

Indeed, I need my space.

Bubby, on the other hand, has not yet learned about bubbles, doesn't understand the concept of personal space. Especially when it comes to his brother, whom he loves so, so much that time and—especially—space know no bounds.

To wit:

Bubby will eventually figure it out. Especially considering how often Mom and Dad—even Gramma—gently remind the enamored big brother that "Baby Mac needs some space."

Despite concerns about rendering Baby Mac claustrophobic at times, I adore the unabashed, in-your-face loving Bubby offers his brother. Such things are short lived and it surely won't be long before the "Mom, he's touching me!" complaints start up between the brothers.

From the looks of things, though, I'm pretty sure Baby Mac will be the one to first utter the refrain.

Which means Bubby's bubble-bursting privileges will remain intact for at least another year or two—about the time it will take before Baby Mac will be able to put into coherent words such pleas for intervention.

Today's question:

How big is your bubble?