I accidentally made the grandboy cry one day while teaching him about money.

He understands about the concept of money.  You need it to do certain things but not for others.  He knows this personally because he plays “free” games on a tablet and knows some areas or items are locked and can only be unlocked if you pay money for them.  We don’t pay for upgrades, so for him, these are unattainable.  And that’s ok.

He also knows that certain “real-life” activities cost money while others don’t.  Opening the hallway door doesn’t cost money.  Opening the bedroom door doesn’t cost money.  Opening the bathroom door doesn’t cost money. Opening the refrigerator, outside or closet doors DOES cost money (the closet lights come on when you open the doors).

We were doing some cleaning one day and he was “helping” by adding soap to the water in the bucket.  He plopped too much soap in the water and I corrected him by saying we needed to use less, because the water would be too soapy and it would take more water to clean off the items than needed now.  He replied, “yah… and costs money too…”

I laughed and said, yes, it costs money too.

“So Gwumpa,” he pondered, “Water costs money.  Soap costs money.  Bucket doesn’t cost money?”

“Yes, bucket costs money.  I had to pay for the bucket once, but not every time I use it now.”

“Ooooh.” [thinking some more, then seemingly distracted as the dog came sniffing round to see what food the boy might have dropped in the kitchen]. “Puppy doesn’t cost money!”

“Haha,” I laughed, “O yep puppy costs money.  He needs doctor visits and food and stuff.”

“Oh.”  [thinking] “People don’t cost money.”

“Well…” [me, trying to think of how to phrase this correctly] “yes, people cost money too for the same reasons.  I need to pay for things to keep us alive and happy.”

“I cost money, gwumpa?”

I chuckle, “Yep, you cost money too.”

Then comes the sadface and the hiccup of a little cry. “Gwumpa I don’t want to cost money!”

I realise then that he’s thinking of his games and the lessons we’ve had about saving expenses.  I don’t freak about expenses but he knows they are something to avoid.

“Honey,” I give him a hug.

“It’s ok for you to cost money.  I love you.  We save money on some things so we can spend more on you and me and your momma.  You are more important to me than the other stuff.”

“Ok gwumpa.” [dries his eyes then looks at the bucket] “Don’t put too much soap in the water, gwumpa, we need to save some for later, ok?”

Photo credit – Dave Ramsey

I’m not a clean freak.  Really.

But I do like things tidy.

Way back when, a lifetime ago (when things were more stressful), I was the one who did the deep-cleaning (and the light cleaning as well) in the household.  Vac, mop, walls, etc.

Some of that was personal preference, some a reaction to the living situation.

Things are better now so I’m more relaxed.  Having had a decade of living with boxes of items all round, and in various locales tends to bring perspective into what’s important.

But some things I’m still a stickler about.  Walls, carpet, and floorboards, for one.

When the grandboy and his momma needed a safe haven to run to, there was no hesitation.  But I very quickly remembered how exciting life is when you’ve a pint-sized walking ball of energy  mixed with food and mud and sometimes the occasional sniffly, vomit-y mess that comes with the package.

Momma’s good about making sure things are kept to a standards minimum.  But I do find I scrub the walls a little more often than I used to.

Except for one spot.

This is is my reminder of how blessed we grandparents are and how I in particular am blessed to have good relationships with my kids – all of them, thankfully.

I was cleaning up one day, about 2½ years ago, when I came upon this patch of mud spread across the doorjamb.  The grandboy had been playing outside with momma in the dirt and used the doorjamb to steady his step up to the next part of the landing.

It occurred to me right then how strong a message this little bit of mess held for me.

The two of them had only been living here for a couple of months.  My daughter had trusted me to help out in a bad situation.  Her boy had no clue what was going on – he barely knew how to walk up a single step without help.  At that moment in time, I hadn’t a clue how long my visitors would be staying with me, but already I knew things would be forever changed no matter how long they stayed.

This is a smeary mess.  I know that.  But it’s also a symbol of trust and respect between myself and family, odd as it sounds.  I’ve actually protected it with a clear coat of gloss – now that the littleun is helping to clean, he may accidentally wipe off this reminder.  I love irony but not that much!

This little patch of dirt will be gone at some point in time.  Maybe after I’m gone and buried.  But until then, this stays as a precious work of love and art.