I started writing this post several days ago.

That’s how bliss works.

It captures you in the moment, immerses you in joy and sends thoughts of all those things you need to ‘get to’ away.

I have been immersed in the bliss of time with my grandchildren for 10 days now.

Pure bliss.

And though tiring, the tiredness pales in comparison to the joy that consumes me when I hear their laughter, see their smiles and feel their tiny and small hands in mine.

At 3 and a half, my grandson is an ever-moving energized bundle of legs running, arms flying about like an airplane or rocket ship or break dancer breaking wild. He pushes a never-ending plethora of dumptrucks zooming across the floor and excavators digging up dirt all while racing his “boy-size’ Porsche car around the island chasing his 13 month old sister as she pushes her ‘her-size’ baby carriage gleefully in front of him.

There are cuddles and story-time and laughter and sometimes tears too and always, always, “Play with me YiaYa’s” galore and questions that can never be answered to his satisfaction like “What are you doing?” and “Are you finished your coffee yet so you can play with me now?” and “Where’s Daddy?” or “Why is mummy busy?”

There are walks in the forest to talk to trees and listen to their heartbeats and follow the story of their roots deep into the ground and stare up into the sky high, high above their branches and walks along the beach turning over every rock in an endless search for crabs and assorted sea life and digging in the sand and climbing up monkey bars and sliding down slides and taking rocket ships to many moons of many colours.

And through it all, there are rainbow ribbons of bliss weaving magic in the air all around and filling my heart to the roots of my soul’s craving for more time to savour the sacred nature of being their YiaYa.

I am here for a couple of more days. My planned trip to Gabriola for the weekend aborted as Covid numbers climb and playing safe means more than just making sure a little pair of hands don’t get caught in closing doors or as my grandson reminds me every time I buckle him into his carseat, “Make sure you don’t pinch me YiaYa.”

And, because I know my granddaughter will be waking from her nap soon, and my grandson will be returning from a walk with his mum, I let go of the need to check back on what I wrote and let it go. That way, I can come back again and again when I return home to savour the feelings of joy and love and bliss that fill every moment of time with my grandchildren and their parents.

This is bliss.

Namaste