Our granddaughters turn nine and six next month.  Where has the time gone? I miss their baby softness, the toothless smiles and the toddler poetry of a new talker who called puddles rain shadows.

And I love, love, love the stage we’re in now. The girls are true individuals, each with her own lovely personality. We can have real conversations. Long past their need for naps, diapers, and mad rushes to the bathroom, we can venture longer and farther on outings.

Olivia is long and leggy, solid and athletic. She’ll likely be taller than me in a year or so.  I love watching her soccer games and thrill at the sight of her chasing after the ball, her loose hair flying behind her free as her spirit.  Never without a book in her hands she reminds me of myself as a child. I liked nothing better than to fill my arms with library books and hide myself away into other worlds.

Leah is a sprite, a tiny firecracker of a girl. I sometimes think her circulatory system is composed of ginger ale bubbles not red and white blood cells. She is trying to make sense of the world. “So Grandpa woudn’t put your nail medicine on his toes and you wouldn’t put his toe spacers on your fingers right?” Leah loves to cook and helped me make a good deal of Thanksgiving dinner. None of this could happen if they were still small enough to cradle in my arms.

As a grandmother, I have the time to notice and savor the stages. To marvel over what is and anticipate what might be coming down the pike.  Once again, I have been given the gift of watching two dear human beings grow into their futures. Not forever, surely. Never has the now been sweeter.

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