Tag: grandchild

I Fear Retirement

Posted on by Tracy Livingston M.Ed.

Spring Break brings me a sense of peace, quiet, and the organization and rotation of clothes (love a good closet), and silence. This brings me joy, a needed recharge, and since I am nearing the end of my career, it causes me great concern as to what’s in my future retirement plans. Long ago, in my fantasy phase, We would hop on a cruise and do the world. Yes, with the hubs. “We” would go from port to port in utter class and see the world. I priced that. Not happening. But a yearly big trip can be organized and afforded. Yes, it can. One trip a year. Just one. A cruise maybe two, Denmark, Ireland, Fiji, Australia, Philippines, Japan, Germany. Italy, and a revisit to France and England. I love to go see, go explore, and go experience other cultures. So does the hubs, he just does not like the planning or spending. But we deserve a yearly exploration. Well, that is two weeks out of the year including packing. Now what. Truly, I draw a blank. Golf? Bad back. But I do like the fact that it takes all day. Again, bad back. Not an option. Besides, had a tantrum on a course with the hubs and picked up the ball, clubs, and chucked them. They did not go far. But it felt good. We went home, clubs in tow. My hubs won’t golf with me anymore.

Volunteering. Possible but when I cross the finish line of teaching, my giving myself for free, is over. But it’s not out of my possible options. Not sure who wants a retired teacher but someone might, or in reality, I might need them more. The fear of boredom is quite real and with golf out, traveling limited, grocery shopping with my husband out, way out. Have you seen those cute couples who banter about what cut of beef they want and actually enjoy the grocery experience? We are not them.

We are building a dream home up north and have another down south. Very south. Will we spend time there? Yes. But both places are in gorgeous areas with an abundance of quiet. I like a balance. Less and less as the years go on, but purpose and a little noise in life is needed. Teach online? Get my restorative yoga certification, open a Montessori school or a yoga studio in Neebish Island? Just continue my essays and complete the book? Or just waking up everyday to a new adventure and let the day unfold…Nah. structure is needed. Heck, I even ask to go to the bathroom and always will, so while retirement scares me the options are amazing.

The Suit

Posted on by Tracy Livingston M.Ed.

Water is not my thing, even as a child. Ironically, I grew up in a desert with a pool in every home. My fear is directly due to the many drowning reports on the nightly news. The newscasters believe they are doing a service (and they are) but after fifty years of hearing the scary statistics, the only service they did for me was don’t get in the water, no matter how bloody hot you feel, at this moment. I can swim. Yes. The local nightly news taught me I had to learn. So I did. But as the years passed I became a pool lounger at an expert level. Dip a toe. Saunter to the chair. Order a drink, and repeat. The view brings me great peace as does the hotel service and bubbly. Oddly, I love to sail and passed my initial certification, but I don’t plan on captaining a boat. I am a lounger with an occasional standing moment at the helm and a bit of the bubbly. The boating love came after convincing myself that I am not in the water and technically I am correct. Being in requires a bathing suit or the current choices of ether small squares of material or big dresses that my grandmother wore when I grew up, which I can’t accept and thus going in the water or even pool lounging has been a big NO for years. Menopause has changed my overall look without my changing my diet or exercise. I could exist on air and I would still have rolls upon rolls in areas that were once flat.  So a bathing suit, has not been on my body, for a very long time. Through the years of heat, mental fog aka the beginning of this stage that never ends, I coped. I hid. I survived. Just a phase. We traveled in the winter to non-beachy areas. Accidental but freeing. London in November. Gorgeous rain and cold. Thankfully this meant turtlenecks, sensible pants, boots, large coats, and scarves. Turkey, obviously covered. In Paris, I was so busy looking Parisian and seeing everything that I could, no suit was necessary. I could hide my changes and frankly just accepted my new life. The last time I wore a suit in public, was twenty years ago in Spain, and twenty pounds ago. The hormonal overdrive phase of life has hit. I will be sixty in six weeks. Which should explain everything without getting technical. My acceptance of a new life stage has now turned to frustration and a daily dose of exasperation in the dressing moments. My body screams practical pull-ons and tunics and my head says hell no. Not yet or ever. Truth be told I have a few outfits that fit this category. They make me happy, in a comfortable way, but they always remind me of my grandmothers polyester granimals that fit her every physical need and frankly she always looked great, but I am not ready. The sixty year old woman does not really fit anywhere in the mainstream fashion industry. But we are having our moments in chain boutique shopping experiences, and while some great stuff can be found, we all come out looking the same which alerts others to the questioning of our desire for the AARP discount of the day. I digress. Back to the newest stressor. The need for a suit.

I am taking my grandnugget to a water park. Yes, not just a pool, but a park of people all in drippy stages of dress or undress with slides, arcades, and characters roaming the property. The nugget has been taking lessons and this is my treat. Now, this grandparent will do anything, but my hubs won’t. He won’t do the character related themed areas and this park fits that category. However, he has committed to Lego Land. It’s a lego thing for him. So that is a go. Disney. That’s on me, but I have a plan. We just don’t mention it until he is at least five years of age, maybe six. Back to the drippy park. After my commitment to what will be a great day. I went through my suits. I have two. Both seem small and lack the fabric I desire. All I can imagine is my very white body shuffling from one area to the next while toting all our necessities. In the pool bag, gone long ago. Luckily they are fancy neoprene now with stylish colors and options. This I can get into but the suit. Nope.

Thankfully, I love to research, and if beach bags have gone all neoprene like and fancy, perhaps the suit has more options than small triangles or massive printed dresses. Why loud prints? Is the dress not bold enough? A man must have created this horror with the mindset of, it will be easy to spot grandma in this checkered number. Within minutes of googling conservative suits, nicer than menopausal mama, I came upon a new trend, swimming leggings. Yup. They are made out of special material that dries quickly just like a regular suit with the special plus of covering, squeezing, and looking relatively sleek. Obviously, this is not a look for the lounging tanner. This legging idea (came through the swimming community) is practical for the swimming grandma desiring to swim with grandchildren and fighting the midst of unwanted body transformations. Rather than, running away from the day, or feeling less than in front of the skinny set or anyone under fourty. It will allow me to feel confident as I stroll the park without being worried about my size and the suit. That’s priceless.

Lands End seems to have the best choices, but also Target, Amazon, and even Walmart are in the game. Note: this is a non-sponsored post.

https://www.landsend.com/shop/womens-swim-shorts-leggings-swimsuit-cover-ups-swimsuits/S-xfh-xez-y5c-xhf-y9k-xec

Life is Being Four

Posted on by Tracy Livingston M.Ed.

Four is a special number. If you are four or a grandparent of a four-year-old. Otherwise, not so special, I suppose. Personally, I like the number and so does my favorite human. You sing constantly, talk to yourself, come up with pure sweetness that melts the hearts of the grandparents in question, and have never-ending energy. Never-ending. I like four and embrace all of it with gusto.

Soon four will end, and that big number five hits out of nowhere or at least that is the feeling. Big moment. Pre-school melts into Kindergarten and with all that school brings. Schedules, learning, friends, birthday parties, and sports. Five is cool. I will like five. My human and I will take more adventures. Lego land, Disneyland, and of course, the waterhouse. Each year the adventures will grow as that is my gift to him, as it was my in-laws to our kid. Adventure, travel, and learning the skills of life.

But right now I like four, the perfect letter D’s and especially, the hugs.

She’s That Kind of Crazy…

Posted on by Tracy Livingston M.Ed.

Being a grandmother is a gift. It is one that some open with trepidation and the acceptance of one’s age. Some spend months deciding on what to be called. Like that matters, but it does allow the transitioning into our new role. The day, our nugget was born, I was in a parade. I was in the midst of royal waves for miles with a bit of Vaseline on the teeth, to hold my fading smile. But this additional news brought a feeling that I had lost. Pure joy. I had not felt this for years. It brought me back to all the good times as a parent multiplied by a bazillion. No Vaseline needed.

Initially, I tried to be the low-key grandma. That did not last. I craved that smile and inner light this person brought to my life. It was akin to reliving my own sons great days without any of the traditional raising stressors. I could just sit on the floor and play, stare, laugh. No need to cook, clean, work, etc. All attention on one human. Pure delight. At least for me. Not all grandma’s are alike…some even allow themselves to live out of the state of their nuggets. How, I do not know. I would sell my soul to live near mine, much to my sons chagrin.

I am over the top. I am one of those. Not low-key. Whatsoever. The family is getting used to my craziness. As a result when I suggest the the nugget and I dress as elves for a school event. No one bats an eye. At least in front of me. When I suggest we go take the nugget on a European cruise for my 60th (ouch) in 🇫🇷 so we can do everything together. They took it well as I threw in Euro Disney for entertainment and if they were tired, I offered to do the entire park without them. They rallied. Eyes stopped rolling. Craziness back in check. When Christmas rolls around and well, you know…they put up with it and I just glow. My inner kid is fulfilled.

We live 90 minutes away. Too far. I am ready to move. Have dinner weekly and go to every game/concert/play etc that he participates in during his school years. I will be that one in the crowd just glowing with pride not only for the nugget but for the kid I raised, who gave me the initial gift of motherhood, and my pure happiness and fulfillment of life.

Progress Not Perfection

Posted on by Tracy Livingston M.Ed.

About a year ago I went on a hike. A short hike. Barely an incline. I almost died. I had to sit about five times, I cursed like a sailor, and requested that my car be brought up the hill (as my friend called it). To me it was akin to Mount Everest. My embarrassing moments were just that embarrassing. Staring at the finish line aka parking lot while just feet away seemed like miles.

Fast tracking to the end of this terror I made it to the car and cried all the way home. Not out of pain but the reality of how I let myself become a blob with no ability to walk a few miles upward.

Once upon a time I was in shape. The wedding. Check. After the wedding. Check. Pregnancy. Check. After pregnancy. Check. My son’s first eighteen years due to the country club life and the machines I had at my disposal. Check. Then real life hit. A few life issues mixed in with mid-life. Everytime I started the walk down the block, the online barre or pilates classes. I stopped. Made excuses and felt pure guilt at not being able to cross the line of consistency.

Covid-19 brought many of us to our fitness, social, emotional, or financial needs. For me I knew if I did not do something I would look like a parades floating balloon. Perhaps it was the social media perfection pictures that flashed at me during the daily boredom and scrolling hours or all the blogs of fifty somethings that look thirty. Whatever it was. It clicked. Onward to my echelon/peloton life.

The first seventy-three rides were of the twenty minute variety mixed with HITT, Tabata, pop and the low key variety. Today, I made a move. I went to thirty minutes. I did it. I survived and I will continue until I can go to forty-five minutes with the weekly goal of an hour. My goal is lofty but it will be achieved.

So, my shape is improving for me and my family, especially my grand-nugget who will never see his grandmother poop out at a park. Any park. Even one with great big mouse ears. Does my shape represent thirty at fifty-seven, no. But I am getting closer and feeling great about it!

Hugs and Stuff

Posted on by Tracy Livingston M.Ed.

Tomorrow is my hubs birthday. I could shower him with praise, but I am not. He will not notice and frankly what could I say that I do not tell him every single day. Nothing. Besides let’s leave the saccharine sappiness where it belongs, to the young who are newly in love. We have something better than the drippings of sweet love and adoration. After thirty-two years together we got the prize of prizes…A grandchild.

A sweet two year old that we hover over, kiss boo boos, drink countless cups of pretend tea, spoil, sock money away for his future, and swoon when we are hugged, reaches for our hands, or during this last visit he asked us to get in the car with him…as home was not his current desire. His sweetness ❤ reminds us of our kid long ago. Who, like all of us has outgrown the sweet innocence we all eat up to feed our needy souls. The unfortunate reality of adulthood is that it robs us of the carefree love and kindness that the youth have in spades and the addition of grandchildren remind us again of our roots and our true needs. But I digress.

Back to the title…Today, the hubs turns 56 and today we celebrate with a socially distant football extravaganza. The real party, however, was a few days ago when we had a couple hours of uninterrupted playtime, hugs, cuddles, and little person banter. Plus our big bonus is always watching the kid be a dad. The best dad and his calling as his inner-child and sweetness comes pouring out again just as they did years ago. These are moments we wish we could bottle and was the hubs true birthday moment. So no matter what I buy, bake, or arrange birthdays are never the same anymore without his buddy.

Happy 56 Grandpa!

Dad is Life and Life is Dad…

Posted on by Tracy Livingston M.Ed.

Our kid has gone through a medical struggle (back) and heartbreak due to the outcome. The kid we raised is smart, stubborn, athletic, artistic, and brave. It has been a haul but that is life and we are a tough family. His recent two year battle came with a miracle that has come full circle and resulted in a new career of sorts, one with no pay, gratitude and frankly the best type of life, full-time dad. DJL now a two year old mini-KWL. He is a single dad and does it all. He is super-dad and his mini-him is attached at the hip and the big guy is just as attached. It is something to see and it is especially poignant from the eyes of a grandparent.

In the midst of raising littles you often miss their favorite show and their intense understanding of character and plot. The mimicked behaviors that are character requested during the developmental shows for little people learning, and the delight in their eyes when they hit perfection of the character moves. Now, I see it all and always tell my son, to slow down and watch it all. It goes fast. So fast. I see his side also, I have done all of it, as my hubs was and is a workaholic who has slowed a bit to cherish the grandfather role, and for that I am grateful.

Long ago, KWL was my mini-me and I see the same in their relationship that we had long ago. Insert Hugs. My former mini-me, at two went to grad school with me, literally walked ASU and went to classes, held the door for the students, and ate Cheerios, colored and practiced sounds and letters. At two and a half we had all letters and numbers through ten mastered, an obvious result of ASU. Insert Laugh. I knew he needed pre-school but neither of us were ready and besides after class there was a happy meal at the Memorial Union. By day I took notes, by night I studied. In between I clipped fingernails, wiped faces, cut up food, played, and prayed my picky eater would eat. Our relationship was tight. In fact, so strong that pre-school was a tough separation for us but we both survived and both flourished. He with his Montessori buddies and me with student teaching and a diploma. The night I walked Gammage for my masters he literally waited in the wings of to see me get what we both earned. As I walked off the stage, I got a hug, and I am sure we all had a McDonald’s dinner. I am sure of that. That is our past, but those times along with many more days like it created the adult he is today.

As parents, we constantly question ourselves, I no longer question. Nope. I am good. I did my best and now I cherish the moments of watching their practical daily life. I find odd joy in the nail clipping, face wiping, consistent feeding (no prayers needed), playing, reading, counting, and constant exploration with high doses of love. I get odd joy in seeing that my former mini-me picked up some skills along the way and is tirelessly using them on his best little person. Now, I sit back and enjoy all the moments, the ones I lived and the ones I missed. As a grandparent I am especially good at the Blues Clues movements and Tea Time, even when it is poured from our tummy as we are into the letter T right now, pretend play, counting, Little Tykes basketball and hugs. I like my hugs the best and look forward to watching my mini-child grow into his own adult and if blessed watch him with his child as they navigate the waters between the constant work and joy our children bring.

I love you KWL.