Life is What Happens When You Are Making Other Plans

It's a wry observation squared, violently illustrated by John Lennon's own life, ended abruptly by a crazed fool with misplaced fascinations. We have our chore list and our bucket list but the off-kilter wheel of life neither stops or slows down for anyone. Oh, we can make our plans, but they'll be thrown off line at every turn. We can make our paths straight but life will surely add some twists and turns of its own.

I never made it to the golf course this weekend but I did enjoy a can of cold beer. Pabst Blue Ribbon, a working man's beer, reliably cold and beery, a can of suds to celebrate the end of the work week. We were knee deep in grandkids, called to baby sitting on both days. The first night I was grousing and resentful, and I let my resentment spoil the opportunity to enjoy them properly. It was only supposed to be for a couple of hours, but we ended up chained to each other until midnight, without car seats or a check-in or a plan. When their mother got home I was miffed and snarky, at my passive-aggressive best. I didn't know we were going to be home all night, I said. They were seeing Frankie's brother Pat off, he's going home to San Francisco. They had to drive him to the airport. To San Francisco? I asked, pointedly, rudeness disguised as humor, the tactic of the chagrined. I was ungraceful and not proud of myself afterward.

I lack the self-assertion to set limits, and then loathe circumstance for my own cowardice. It's as simple as the question, "When do you think you'll be back?" or "Can you leave their car seats?" or "Marie and I wanted to go to the gym and dancing for our date night; we can't watch them past 7:30." That would have given them three hours, plenty of time for a round trip to the airport and even a beer in the airport lounge, even though the lounge probably doesn't have Pabst Blue Ribbon by the can. That's a pity. Although if they did, it'd be five dollars a can, enough for a six-pack of tallboys at the store.

But I often do this, this stoking of resentment by expecting others to anticipate my unstated expectations, expecting sensitivity from the oblivious. How's that worked out so far? Sometimes we have an uncanny radar for self-deception, letting people take advantage and then building barriers of carping snippy resentment afterward. It's a very self-defeating dynamic. Ashley plays us for fools, we throw a hissy, she stalks off, lather, rinse and repeat.

Then the next day to begin the cycle anew I called to apologize to her. Wonder what Dr. Phil would say about these goings on? I suspect this pattern is repeated among the generations all over the country. It starts with the perception or rather the misperception that anyone over thirty five has one foot it the grave and nothing better to do than be a temporary depository for bored children. I love my grandkids, all six of them, but if I wanted to operate a drop-in, no-appointment- necessary daycare center I'd do it for profit. At least tell me when you're coming back for them. It shouldn't be open-ended. I shouldn't have to ask.

That said, I feel like a miserable fool for not making better use of my time with them. They are beautiful, bright, remarkable little girls. I was grumpy and disengaged. It's not their fault, not for a second. They deserved better from me.

Saturday's duty was much happier. We played on the living room with Madilyne. We played the Giraffe Game and the Bear Game and tickled her with her Glow Worm and she bounced in her Johnny Jump Up. I sang her "Take Me Out to The Ball Game" and buzzed her belly. She was seven months on Friday, happy and engaged, incredibly alert for such a little one. From the time she was two months she has been content to be on the floor and play with her toys, and she is very sweet about it. She's teething now but still in good spirits.

Usually the plans we've made aren't that important. It's the lives unfolding in front of us that are. I have to remind myself not to make the same mistake over again. When my kids were little I was too busy earning a living to live. Like almost all parents I'd give anything to have one more day with them when they were little, to play on the floor and have earnest conversations about their dollies and Hot Wheels, to act as if nothing else in the world mattered in that moment. Because nothing else does. Resentments and self-absorption can rob us of a rich opportunity to be truly alive.