It's Labor Day at our house and relatively quiet.  Yes, the people working on the outdoor repair project aren't working today because it's a holiday, but that's not the only reason the house it quiet.  The grandkids aren't here.

 

    Last week was Camp Grandma here in Bellevue, and we had a houseful.  Colty was here for five days because his daycare provider takes her vacation during the last two weeks of August, and the substitute babysitter had to go back to school.  The three older granddaughters and their daddy were all here to help chase after Colt, a child who arrives bright-eyed and bushy-tailed at 5:15 AM and hardly ever moves at anything under a dead run. 

 

    Having Lauren, Emmy, and Rachel here to track after that very impish toddler was a huge blessing.  We couldn't have done it without them.  On the other side of the coin, I think the granddaughters enjoyed going shopping for school clothes and shoes with Grandma and her over-worked credit card.  Grandma enjoyed it, too.

 

    By Wednesday evening, the other cousins, Audrey and Celeste, were feeling left out over in Silverdale, so they came to Grandma's that night and stayed until our NYTimes celebration party on Friday night.  It was fun.  It was busy.  It was challenging.  No writing got done.  At all.  Not even blogging.

 

    On Saturday everyone packed up and went home.  It's now two and a half days later, and I'm mostly recovered.  I slept until 7:30 this morning and woke up without having to be jarred out of bed at 5 AM when the alarm went off.  And this morning I'm able to get back to writing as well, but as I do so I'm thinking about any number of people who have my utmost respect and who will most likely never read this blog posting or one of my mysteries, either. 

 

    Those are the good people, many of them my age or older, who have stepped into the breach to raise their grandchildren when their own sons and daughters, for whatever reason are unable to care for their children.

 

    My hat is off to those good people.  They have searched their hearts and found the energy and heart to do what needs to be done.  Their golden years are golden, all right, but not in the way they expected.  They all have my utmost respect and gratitude. 

 

    And, as I sit here writing this, with power and heat on and with Gustav marching inexorably across Louisiana and Mississippi, I'm feeling even more grateful. 

 

   This is definitely a day to count our blessings.