I just did the quick math and realized my wife and I have been empty nesters for almost ten years now. When our youngest headed off to college in 2017, we pivoted and embraced the milestone of less clutter and chaos. But just as suddenly we have grandchildren now, and with them comes reminders of those formerly frenetic chapters of our lives.
The moment that inspired this post was the one I never saw coming. We hosted our granddaughters earlier this week, in the first of what we hope will be countless “sleepovers”. At ages 3 and “almost 2” they’re a sight for sore eyes (and also a sight you should never take your eyes off of). My wife and I were in the kitchen doing a something-or-other task when suddenly the three-year old beckoned to me from the nearby screened-in porch. It’s pretty adorable when a little one uses “come here” gestures to get your attention because she still doesn’t quite have the words.
Now, let me admit to a little annoyance. After all, I was in the middle of something and I was being interrupted by my granddaughter. In typical adult fashion I said, “Hang on honey, let me finish what I’m doing”, but she persisted. Apparently what needed to be seen couldn’t wait one more minute. So I let out a sigh, put down what I was doing, and wandered over to the porch.
Here was my granddaughter, holding her hands out wide to proudly display what was sitting on the table…. an empty wooden bowl. I looked at the bowl and then I looked at her, then back to the bowl, then back to her with obvious question marks in my eyes. And all she said to me was, “cake!”. Cake? What was that supposed to mean? Was she trying to pronounce some other word but somehow it was coming out “cake”?
It was then she gave me a glimpse into her wonderfully imaginative little world. I had no idea our screened-in porch was actually a world-class chef’s kitchen. There was some serious baking going on in there! And the cake’s ingredients – of which there were many – came from the most unexpected of places.
To begin with, my granddaughter produced a small rock (not sure where that came from) which served as the cake “starter”. Then she picked up the largest throw pillow from the couch and shook it vigorously into the bowl. Who knew we had a “bag of flour” right there on the porch? Immediately adjacent to the flour, a smaller throw pillow became a “bag of sugar”. More vigorous shaking. Finally she seized the third throw pillow, which she didn’t have an answer for (so we told her it was baking powder).
Other ingredients followed. When she asked for butter we emptied the box of butter sticks from our refrigerator so she could help herself to “the rest of them”. When she needed a little water she sprinkled some (literally) from the nearby wall fountain. An empty watering can was suddenly “full of milk”. And in a creative spin I could never come up with myself, she decided the four ornate corners of our patio table were dispensers for cake toppings like frosting, chocolate syrup, and rainbow sprinkles.
At this point I’d completely forgotten whatever mundane task I’d been doing in the real kitchen because I was focused on the make-believe one instead. I brought out several (real) implements so the cake could be thoroughly prepared. Wooden spoons for stirring. Spatulas for turning. Tongs to pick up and put down the mysterious rock (a repetitive step in the recipe she clearly understood but I did not). An (empty) shaker of cinnamon. Impatiently I asked her if the cake was done, but she shook her head side-to-side and said, “No (Gran) Da, this cake will take hours”. And that was perfectly fine with me.
By the time our granddaughters were strapped into their car seats and on their way home, I think we’d baked another four cakes on the porch kitchen. Little Miss Almost-2 occasionally pitched in as sous chef, although her older sister was only too happy to point out who was in charge. Today as I sit at my laptop, I’m looking at a clean and organized screened-in porch. It suddenly looks a little boring.
As for the inside of the house, the dishes are washed, the toys are back in the cabinets, and everything’s pleasantly back in order. It’s looking like an empty nest around here again. Except for some little handprints that need to be cleaned from the living room windows. On second thought maybe I’ll leave those where they are, if only to remind me – whenever she asks – to drop everything I’m doing and go bake the cake.
Life In A Word 