The grandmother shuffle

The Haines A'Capella Women's Chorus sings a little song at the end of each rehearsal. It begins, "I see the moon, the moon sees me, down through the leaves of the old birch tree," and it ends, "please let the light that shines on me, shine on the ones I love." I was still singing it the other night after our weekly practice at the museum when I stepped outside. I pulled my hat on and walked down the hill, past the boat harbor, and along the slushy sidewalk next to the beach to my second daughter's apartment above our family's lumberyard. It's across the street from the seasonally deserted cruise ship dock.

A moon rose over the inlet; I said a little long-distance blessing to my three college-aged children in Colorado, Ireland, and Anchorage, hoping they might be seeing the same moon tonight.

My oldest daughter sometimes jokes that she still lives with her parents, above our garage. Actually, she sleeps there, but since the water freezes up each winter, she lives mostly in the house with us. She is a busy second-grade school teacher, and a few of her new colleagues are her old teachers.

The daughter who lives above the lumberyard is married. Her husband coaches the high-school basketball team. After my choir practice, he would be in the gym just down the road for another hour or so. So I thought I'd visit the baby until he returned.

It is a new dance, this grandmother shuffle. I don't want to be the mother-in-law from Bill Cosby jokes. I want my children to be glad I'm here.

Before I was a grandmother, everyone said I would love it because when the baby cries you can give her back to her parents. That is a cliché. I'm not sure I can put the grandmother feeling in words, but if I had to, I'd choose lightness and joy. I think that's because my job is enrichment. Everything I do is extra, and therefore good.

With my own babies, I remember feeling so responsible that caring for them wasn't always fun. I needed to raise them right. I had to teach them to eat vegetables, to sleep in their own bed, and how to ice skate. It was a lot of work. With my daughter's baby, she and her husband will do that. I'll be the one who bakes her cookies, lets her stay up late, and gives her hot cocoa after a bruising afternoon on the lake ice.

It was nice to be walking toward the same place I raised my children and know my granddaughter would be there.

When I got there, I called the dog, and took her for a walk around the neighborhood. Next door, the historic Army Post Exchange, now a lodge, was all lit up and the parking lot was full.

The heli-skiers are back. A sure sign of spring, they have been arriving all week. Also, the Mexican restaurant one block over will open for the season next week. That night I will get my daughter take-out and hope the nursing baby doesn't mind the mole sauce on the enchiladas.

After the dog was walked, I stepped inside quietly in case the new mother and baby were resting, but they were up. My daughter held Caroline while bouncing on an exercise ball. It is good for her core, she tells me. I asked if I could bounce her a while. (This grandma is not a rocker -- she's a roller.) Caroline snuffled the way fussing babies do, so I took her into my daughter's childhood bedroom and changed her diaper.

There is a mirror above the changing table. Caroline likes to look up at the faces in it, hers and mine. She can be very serious. My husband says she looks like him, bald with blue eyes. I stuck out my tongue. She smiled. I smiled. She reached a hand up. I have no idea how long we stayed there, sticking our tongues out and opening our eyes wide.

I sang to her, "Over the mountains over the sea, that's where my heart is longing to be," and thought that I should change those lyrics: "Next to the mountains next to the sea, that's where my own heart always will be." Out the window the real moon shone over the mountains and onto the inlet. I kept singing, "I see the moon, the moon sees me, down through the leaves of the old birch tree, please let the light that shines on me, shine on the ones I love."

Caroline looked right at me. I know she understands everything. I'm learning to speak grandbaby.