On golden sand

What's this leaf? Looks yummy! Let's try!

The other evening I watched my granddaughter discover sand, and you would have thought she'd found a cache of gold dust. First she bent over and ran her fingers through this odd new substance, and then she picked up a few tentative handfuls to see what this stuff could do. Before too long she was lying down in it, petting the sand as if it were the back of an immense cat, sifting it through her fingers, squishing her toes in the sand, throwing it in the air to see how far it could fly--she even took a little taste of sand but decided it wasn't at all yummy. 

As I watch her discovering marvelous things I try to remember my children at that stage, but I keep coming up blank. Did I delight in their discoveries as I do with my granddaughter, or was I too overwhelmed by the demands of parenting to take notice? I don't remember. A few distinctive moments stand out, mostly those that have become a part of family lore: Horse of Beauty; the pumpkin patch; the great lemonade incident. When did my children first discover the joys of sand? I have no idea.

Maybe this is what makes grandparenting great: it takes me back to the joy of discovery, the sheer delight of finding a whole new world full of wonders. I guess sometimes it takes a child to help me see the wonders in a grain of sand.