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Observant and Inquisitive

canstock2636420 Husband found a quiet lake cove and anchored the pontoon boat.  The Grands, wearing their snug life jackets, jumped off the front of the boat, swam to the back, climbed up the ladder, and splashed into the water again and again.  What a happy way to celebrate my birthday – with family, on the water, under a cloudless sky, surrounded by trees.  I floated and watched.  Quite comfortable in my one piece, cover-all-it-can, bathing suit.

The Grands’ parents finally declared rest and snack time.  All of us sat on the boat wrapped in towels.  Six-year-old Lou snuggled close and rubbed her hand over my shoulder and down my arm.  “Gran,” she said, “how do you get that fat there?”  Lou patted my back, right under my armpit.  Husband, Daughter, Son in Law, and Lou’s three siblings looked at her and me.  I tugged on my bathing suit to hide that fat there.  “I don’t know.  How’s that?”  I asked.

“Better, it’s not so fat now,” my sweet Grand said.

My Grands notice everything.  When David was six years old, he and his two younger sisters crowded close as I read aloud.  With one Grand in my lap, and one on each side, I held the book high, front and center, so we could all see the pictures.  David, sitting beside me, rubbed his hand lightly down my arm.  With one finger, then two, and then his whole hand.  And then he patted under my arm right above my elbow.  “Gran, stop a minute,” he said.  “How do you get your arm to do that?”  He thumped that part of my arm that some people call a bat wing.  And he thumped his own underarm.  “Look.  When I do my arm like that it doesn’t jiggle.”  I immediately lowered my arms and the book.

“What?  I want to see,” said both his sisters.  I couldn’t convince them that the book was more interesting than a bat wing arm.  So we played show and laugh, and I silently swore that I’d never again lift my arms from my sides in public, unless I was wearing a sleeve below my elbow.

And then there’s a question that all my Grands have asked at age four.  Recently, Ruth and I sat on the playroom floor and dressed Strawberry Shortcake dolls.  We pretended that they smelled as they did when they were new, more than thirty years ago.  That’s when Ruth popped the question.  The same one that her older brother and sister had asked.  “Gran, is there a baby in your tummy?”  My reply was simple.  “No.”  And I’ve learned to not give explanation.

You know, if I’d lose a few pounds or grow about half an inch taller, I’d be an ideal weight according to most medical charts.  But somehow, my body bulges in places that it didn’t at this same weight twenty years ago.

I’m glad my Grands are observant and inquisitive.  Just not about my body.




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