When realities hit home

I know a lot of you are expecting most of my blog posts to be filled with complaints about living with my Mom, and while I will admit I have done my fair share of grumbling and adjusting, this is not going to be one of them.
Well okay, I may throw in a few grumbles for good measure, but in general this is a post to do with thankfulness.

Yesterday, I was watching my kids interact with their Granny and was hit by the reality of how lucky I am that they can have this time to get to know her. The last time they got to see her, they were 4 years old.  Now at 8 they have so much more to offer, and her to offer them.  There is so much love to be shared, so much patience from either side that they are all willing to give, just to spend time together.

We as immigrants give up so much when we move to the other side of the planet.  So far away from our childhood friends, our siblings, our parents.  Our kids don't know the sort of environment we grew up in, they don't know their grandparents, their aunts and uncles and often their cousins. We don't understand the sports that our kids are now exposed to, they are not what we grew up with and if they are lucky we will try to learn them so that we can bond over this as they grow up with it.

This year has been a trying year for my family which I guess makes realization so vivid.  My Dad passed away in February and my Mother-in-law passed on earlier this month.  That's two grandparents that my kids wont get to know, and that hurts us all.  So, as I look at the way that my children love their Granny so very much, the love in their eyes when they wrap their arms around her, the cuddles they are getting, the time that she spends talking and taking an interest in them, and the time they spend telling her the things I brush off a million times, I can only be thankful that they all have this time. I smile when they run to hug and kiss her goodbye before they leave for school in the morning and yet yell a simple "bye Mom, have a good day" as they grab their backpacks and rush for the door. I don't mind, I don't begrudge it, I am the first one they run to hug and wrap their arms around at pickup time anyway.

As much as I may complain about the little things, and they are little things, these are memories they will cherish, that I will cherish, even if I do think that being watched while I make soup out of a can is claustrophobic. (But that's a whole different blog post.)