R and I are on our way to Wisconsin, driving and taking our time. We're going to visit our daughter, Jill, and her husband, Jason, along with the grandchildren, eight year old triplets, Mackenzie Lauren, Chase Andrew, and Tanner Riley, and their four year old brother, Austin Cole.
We saw Chase a few weeks ago when he came to visit but we haven't seen the rest of the family since Christmas. We're excited to be getting away from home for a few days and visiting them at their home. We love seeing all their "things," which they show us with great enthusiasm - what's new in their rooms, what treasures they've collected recently, their school papers. I read to them and I listen, to their stories - and they have dozens- and to them reading their books to me. They have quite a library of their own. I'm pleased that they love books, that they love to read, and that they love to write stories of their own.
On the trip, I'm working on shedding my writer's skin and donning my grandma's persona. (I won't say grandma's skin because I already have that!) I remind myself that for the next few days I won't get frustrated at not being able to write when the mood strikes. I'll think of someone else besides myself. O.K. that one is hard. Writers have to be selfish if they are to get the work done.
I promise only to check email. No face book, no blogging, no working on my story.
Once the hugs and kisses start I'll have no trouble changing gears. It's the one thing I can give up writing for, grandmothering. A few days of uninterrupted unconditional love. Nothing in the world compares.