I hear spring has arrived. There have been a few mornings that I heard the birds and smelled the scent of earthworms. And 50-60 degree temperatures are predicted as the week progresses. It feels like I have been waiting a long time for the signs of spring.
Those signs have a special meaning in my family. They tell us it is time to dig out the bins and prepare for the “spring shuffle.” The “spring shuffle” is when we sort through all the clothes bins, making lists of things we need to compile a dazzling wardrobe for spring and summer.
Part of the shuffle means sorting and bagging up unwanted or non-fitting items and shuffling them from house to house to see if they are needed to complete an ensemble elsewhere. This procedure is usually completed before the items are tossed into the garage sale boxes and spring shopping lists are completed.
So here we are with Easter in a few days, the shuffle is nearly completed and the lists are made. It’s time to gather the pilfered cash I have tucked away from other funds since Christmas, and make a day of shopping with my daughters and grandchildren.
We’re excited so we arrive at the stores as the doors open and quickly scan for two things: the top color choice for the season and sale signs. My daughters lead the way straight to the children’s section. At Easter, the kids set the attire; the adults just color coordinate solely for the purpose of identifying family blood lines.
My oldest granddaughter spots her heart’s desire. Granted, she is only three, but she knows what she wants. It was red, white and blue flowered dress, not really the color for the season. Her mother stuffed the dress between the racks and steered her to the items and colors she had in mind; coral, yellow, purple, pink just about anything but red, white and blue.
I have to say my granddaughter held her own. However, a few tears, a sucker, and the promise of McDonalds and I was checking out a darling coral ensemble.
However, that evening I found myself moping around the house not really joyful about the day’s activities. So I abandoned all reason and called my daughter and asked to speak to my sweet little granddaughter, Violet.
I heard her mother prompting her to thank me for the dress in the background and she graciously complied with her mother’s request. However, after all the thank-yous and I love yous, I remembered who I was.
I am not Violet’s mother. I don’t have to budget or make logical choices. I am her grandmother. So, I claimed my role. I told Violet that tomorrow her and I would go shopping and I would buy her the red, white and blue flowered dress. The next day, I did and when I took her home she thanked me with no prompting. She said in her slightly dutch voice that her dress was lovely.
Needless to say I wasn’t moping around the house that night. I remembered who I was and loved being who I am, Violet’s grandmother.
