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Another too-short weekend

Marcy O’Brien

I don’t see my grandchildren very much. They live over 500 miles away in historic Lexington, Massachusetts, a place I try to visit as often as possible . . . which is not often enough.

For example, every year I fly to Boston at the end of January for the Princess of Boston’s birthday. This year she had a role in the middle school play and wanted me to come. Since I couldn’t do both birthday and her weekend in “Aladdin,” I asked her to choose. She preferred to have me in the audience rather than watch her blow out the candles. Either was fine with me, I just hated that I had to choose.

Like many school plays, the show was scheduled for Thursday, Friday and Saturday nights with a Sunday matinee. But that was the schedule before the second nor’easter in a week arrived in Beantown turning everyone’s plans – for everything – upside down

When we arrived at the house from Logan airport last Friday, the electricity had just come back on – finally. I stayed in my coat until bedtime.

With the lights out, there had been no school Thursday or Friday, ergo, no Thursday or Friday evening performances of “Aladdin.” And since the Big Blow had settled in Wednesday afternoon, the last rehearsal had been Tuesday.

Everyone seemed to be taking the changes in stride although I’m sure there were more than a few frantic organizers in the background. Schedule, re-schedule, snow, wind, no heat. Schedule, re-schedule, more snow, more wind, no lights. And no rehearsals.

The upshot of the messy uncertainty was to cram all four performances into Saturday and Sunday, two matinees, two evenings. Keira left early for her newly scheduled Saturday morning rehearsal and all I could think was what a long day those kids were going to have. Ah youth.

But they’re much more resilient than we give them credit for. Let’s face it – they were excited, and that kind of adrenaline always carries the day.

Despite the biting wind, the sun was shining Saturday afternoon. Althea, who has babysat since Keira was two, joined my daughter and I for Saturday’s matinee. The show was terrific.

When Keira joined us after the final bows, I couldn’t believe my eyes. My little Princess of Boston stood before me – transformed. The stage makeup, the bright magenta lipstick, blushers and dramatic eyes knocked my socks off. What right does this child have to become 20 years old since leaving the house in the morning?

As many families do, we went back again Sunday afternoon. It’s much easier the second time around actually knowing where to find her in the ensemble rather than guessing. Turns out, the second show revealed something important – I realized I’ve got to get these cataracts fixed, soon.

Throughout the musical, another little scene played out in the two seats next to me. The aisle seat was occupied by a mother holding a toddler on her lap, accompanied by a boy about four in the next seat. I inwardly groaned as I sat next to the little boy thinking, here we go, they’ll probably jabber and fidget and whine through the whole play. Curmudgeonette that I am, I couldn’t have been more wrong.

The toddler in her flowered dress nestled against her mom, fascinated by the fast-moving musical. Not a peep. Her big brother either sat up straight or leaned against his mother who occasionally put her arm around him or held his hand. I thought, Hah – this’ll ever last. She took them for a walk at intermission, buying them each a box of Skittles. The little girl sat up on mom’s lap and fed every other piece of candy to her mother. Both children ate quietly, almost daintily, one careful piece at a time.

In the middle of the second act, the mother leaned over to speak to the little boy, put the girl on her seat and left! I didn’t panic but I did wonder, “What is she thinking? Turns out she just needed to use the ladies’ room. Neither kid moved an inch the few minutes she was gone, except the little boy did sneak a look at me. He returned my smile. They both were a couple of heart-melters and my early cynicism turned to admiration for the young, soft-spoken mother. She was obviously rearing her children in a peaceful, attentive home. Yes, there was obedience, but in their quiet scenario I witnessed generosity, respect and genuine kindness from all three of them.

I had been a victim of my assumptions – probably thinking back to some of the loud, demanding brats in the airport. I left the play Sunday feeling warmly confident about where my grandchildren live and the families surrounding them. Many dozens of those families filled the hallways, exchanging hugs and kisses and flowers with their stars for the day. The jubilation was palpable. The happy cast and crew of 80+ headed off to their cast party, again rescheduled, into the few hours before the evening performance.

All in all, I wouldn’t have missed it. Naturally I enjoyed the play – my face hurt from grinning through two acts – twice. But what I took away from this visit was a renewed appreciation for my small family and the hard work of bringing up children to be decent, responsible human beings. As critical as the family unit is, I also saw, first-hand, the importance of their environment, the world of people outside their doors with day-to-day influence in their young lives.

I’m not on the front lines anymore, not issuing the repetitive reminders, nor trying to remember that every action is an example – being closely observed. I just watch my daughter and son-in-law living the everyday demands of parenthood, and appreciate their consistency, their patience, their dedication. It’s so much easier to be lulled into the grandparent trap, love them and leave them, then come back when I can, for more love.

I slipped out of town on Monday just before nor’easter #3 clobbered them again. School was closed for two more days while the high winds pushed the 2” an hour accumulation into new drifts. Maybe it will be melted when I fly back in May. It’s still not soon enough.

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