Saturday, August 16, 2014

MeMe, too

MeMe:  Some day you will ride a bicycle.
Emma:  Nonan, too?
MeMe:  Yes, Nolan, too.
Emma:  Dada?
MeMe:  Yes, Daddy, too.
Emma:  Mama?
MeMe:  Yes, Mama, too.
Emma:  MeMe no.  MeMe fall.

True. I did take a spill off of a bike while riding with my daughter long before my son was even married. In my defense, my daughter stopped in a tunnel. I took out the wall to prevent hitting her. Haven't gotten back on a bike since. Now, Emma is only two. I know that no one has told her this story. So what is it in her mind that is sure that MeMe plus bicycles spells disaster? Does she see me as old and reckless?

I am very active with the kids. I guess I don't see me as an age. In fact, I think too often society puts me in a box expecting me to be a typical 67 year old. I recently did a survey for my medical provider. I was asked if I had home care. Did I need someone to set up my medications? The questions went on and on. I had an urge to stop the stupid survey that was making be feel older by the minute. These questions might have applied to a woman my age 30-40 years ago, but they don't apply now. We are the boomer generation. We are active and healthy. So why should we feel old just because we are considered seniors. Argh! I don't even like to be called a senior. I am like any other age. We all have different health issues at different times in our lives. My body might be heading south in ways like arthritis, but that does not make me old, in need of care. Maybe age should be determined by state of mind.

Millie, the Airedale, has numerous remnants of stuffed toys laying around for her delight. I tuck a 'fuzzy tail' into the back of the back of Emma and Nolan's pants and one in my back pocket as well. We crawl around on all fours just like Millie. The twins giggle and laugh. Me? I wish their parents didn't have hardwood floors. I duck and crawl beneath their outdoor play structure, peek-a-booing with two giggling tots. We sit on the floor and play cars. We curl up on the rug to read books. I bob a kid or two on my foot for a horsy ride and swing a 25 pound child in the air. So, no, I'm not in need of home care. I can still open my medicine bottle.

My older granddaughters lay their heads in my lap. We talk about all the things we want to teach the babies. Things that we did when they were small. I see in the girls the imagination that we shared when they were little. They talk of the dancing around the room and their paintings hung on wire stretched down the staircase. Sydney is 15 and Gabby almost 13. The age difference in cousins is not insurmountable, because age doesn't matter. We will dance with the twins and painting will hang on the wall.

I don't think I will take any more surveys. Perhaps I will surprise the doctor on my next visit by riding a bike into her office. Emma would probably scold me.

MeMe:  Some day you will ride a horse.
Emma:  Nonan, too?
MeMe:  Yes, Nolan, too.
Emma:  Dada and Mama?
MeMe:  Yes, Dada and Mama.
Emma:  No MeMe.  MeMe fall.
MeMe:  Oh, Emma, MeMe can ride a horse. MeMe won't fall. I love to ride horses.
Emma:  MeMe, too.

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