The Kids Are Moving....

and I'm not there to help.

I packed no boxes.  I taped nothing closed.  I held no fragile objects as bubble wrap surrounded them.

I did nothing.  Absolutely nothing.  I made sure that the plastic container with the clothes I leave at their house held everything I'd left behind, but I didn't do anything more than push it back into the closet when I was done.

Okay, I'll give myself some credit - I took our toiletries out of the bathroom and placed them in the sealed plastic container, leaving one less set of drawers for them to empty.  It doesn't seem like much, does it?

SIR is a master packer, and my efforts would, no doubt, have required supervision and a great deal of angst on his part.  He's much neater than I am; last year's Christmas presents sat in their beautiful white Crate and Barrel shipping box so that he could admire the precision with which I had placed the gifts.  He was amazed... wondered that I, the Queen of Disarray, could have created such perfection.  I smiled and told him that I thought of him as I did it; the packing was as much a part of his gift as the Nike ID sneakers.

So, I am not surprised that I wasn't asked to pack.  TBG and I were on FlapJilly duty when the moving first began, and our wonderful children assured us that hugging the world's most wonderful grandchild was help enough.  I was okay with that.

But now, the truck is packed and unloaded and their stuff is in storage and on portable clothes racks in SIR's ancestral manse, and I have no role at all.  I can't help them find child care.  I can't get FlapJilly a library card.  I can't fill their refrigerator with Parmesan Reggiano and thick sliced bacon because they don't have access to their new house for a month or so and  there is nothing I can do but type to you and whine.

My role seems to be sending FlapJilly Minnie Mouse clothes and striped organically grown cotton pj's and saying YES! when she points to my daughter's phone and asks to Facetime with me.

"G'ammma?  Hi, G'ammma!" 

She babbles along as she eats her dinner and TBG and I babble back.  Little Cuter smiles.  I guess, if this is all she need from me right now, I might as well just sit back and enjoy it.

Right?