The Game Is Still Good. So Is the Hat.

A couple of years ago, at the start of the war, I made a board game for my grandchildren.

It was called: B"H, LIFE IS GOOD.

At the time, life didn't always feel particularly good.

We couldn't visit the grandchildren the way we normally did. Everyone was waiting, worrying, and holding phones up so we could see each other's faces. Hugs had been downgraded to screens. And since some of our kids didn't have screens at all, we just listened to the sound of their voices.

I wanted to make something for the kids I couldn't see. Something that said, in my own Savta-ish way: Yes, things are hard. But B"H, life is good.

So, I covered the dining room table in plastic, to protect it from me. I sat down in my blue hat, with a pile of markers, and made a game.

And when I say made, I mean made. I drew the board. I colored the spaces. I wrote out the cards. I cut things out. I glued things on. I arranged and rearranged the board just so.

It was not exactly Hasbro, but the kids loved it.

Fast forward two years.

Last week, we traveled to visit our far-away grandchildren, and I brought along my new game - the one I've been calling The EVERYTHING Game, because it has cards for little kids, older kids, thinking, doing, talking, laughing, and generally making a lot of noise.

We played. They loved it.

And then one of them said, "We still play B"H, LIFE IS GOOD."

Still.

The game I made at a dining room table had not been sitting in some forgotten corner collecting dust. It had been played. Repeatedly. By actual children.

I brought the old game home with me.

And that's when I made three important discoveries.

Number One: I had the dates wrong.

Originally, I was sure I'd made that game during COVID. I'd been telling it that way. Then I found the photo on my phone. It was the war. 

Apparently, in our family, the hard times have started to blur together. Unfortunately, one of them hasn't ended.

Number Two: The game is good.

Really good.

I looked at it with fresh eyes and thought, “You know what? This actually works.”

And I can make it better. Because, once a person discovers she can invent board games, she cannot stop.

I now have opinions about cards. And spaces. And dice. And how many squares are necessary before a child starts wondering whether the game will ever end.

I have become the sort of person who looks at a board game and thinks: This needs more interaction and fewer rules.

It's a slippery slope.

Number Three: Look at the photo. I was wearing the same hat.

Two years later. Same hat. Different game. Different grandchildren. Different circumstances.

Same Savta.

The hat, I'm proud to say, stayed exactly the same.

And suddenly I thought: Maybe that's the real game.

The world changes. The grandchildren get older. Some of them get taller than I am, which, frankly, is rude.

New games come along. Old games stay.

We sit around tables. We try to give our grandchildren something that will stay with them after we've gone home. And sometimes, years later, we discover that they kept it.

Not because it was perfect. Not because it was professionally manufactured. But because Savta made it for them.

I don't know how long B"H, LIFE IS GOOD will keep getting played. Maybe until the board falls apart. Maybe until the grandchildren are too old for it.

Although, judging from the teenagers who recently played my new game for three hours, I'm not putting any money on that.

But I do know this:

I made that game during a very hard time because I wanted my grandchildren to remember something: B"H, life is good.

Two years later, they reminded me.

And, by the way... the hat is still good, too.

B"H. ❤️

 

Savta, Off Duty

I was wedged under a tilted ladder, catching grapes my son was dropping down from the top of our grapevines, when my two-year-old granddaughter, watching nearby, called out:

"Savta. Water." Oy.
"Savta. Water."

I was just about to figure out how to unmesh myself from the ladder situation when my five-year-old grandson called out, "I'll get it, Savta."

And he took off.

That didn't sound right to me. How was he going to get his sister a drink? He'd have to find a cup, reach the sink, fill it (well, at least an inch) and somehow get it to her without spilling. This was a two-part Savta job, minimum.

I got myself untangled and ran into the house. (Well, I was running in my imagination.)

And there he was. One leg on a stool, his knee on the sink, leaning over the water filter with a little black paper coffee cup. He had figured it out.

I was about to exclaim, "Amazing! What a boy!" when I felt my eyes getting misty instead. So I just said, "Thank you, darling. What a good brother."

SUDDEN INDEPENDENCE

We sat down to play one of the games I'd invented. A few minutes later, he disappeared. Then he returned, wiping his hands on his pants. He'd gone to the bathroom by himself. And washed his hands. Without a reminder. Without a single "Savta, come."

Had I been fired? Not exactly. Just quietly downsized.

Where had the "Savta, help" gone? The "Savta, read me a book"? I realized a whole slew of cherished little-kid jobs were disappearing off my desk - the potty songs, the swing pushes, the running into my arms at preschool pickup, the booster seat buckle, the hand held down the street. Those small, unglamorous tasks are part of what binds a grandchild to each of us. And in one splash of filtered water, I'd been quietly promoted to Consultant. Emeritus. On Retainer.

I felt sad. Also, oddly, proud.

A few minutes later, we went out to the porch where my son was helping us build our sukkah. My grandson watched for a minute and announced, "I can help." Of course he could. Every little kid wants to help.

Then he thought about it. "I left my tools at home," he said. "But I'll be able to figure it out."

I looked at him differently. I actually believed him.

Then a fly started dive-bombing my head. "Don't worry, Savta," he said. "That's my pet fly. I brought him from home."

B"H. The job may have changed. The boy hasn't.

The Grapes Miss Them Too

There have been lots of cartoons flying around the internet lately showing grandmothers dancing and frolicking because their grandchildren have gone back to school.

I understand.

Many grandmothers spent the month of August helping out while their children worked and their grandchildren had nowhere to go. They ran Grandma Camps, with or without sleepovers. They took the kids on vacations and day trips. They cooked and baked and played and cleaned and hugged and bandaged and refereed fights.

After thirty days of making pizza, wacky mac and pita with chocolate spread, I suppose many grandmothers are ready for a salad and a martini.

I am not one of them.

Yes, I also had my grandchildren for August. And while I can certainly see the advantages of having my house back, I am not celebrating their return to school.

True, my house is a disaster area. My coat closet needs a complete overhaul after umpteen games of hide-and-seek. (The coat closet is a favorite hiding place.) And I am missing more teaspoons than ever. (I have a suspicion that some of them were tossed out with the half-eaten yogurts.)

But bits of our summer keep turning up anyway. My grandson's favorite green T-shirt was mixed in with my linen laundry. Plus, as I got ready for Shabbat, I found my daughter-in-law's white woven shawl and my two-year-old's Mickey Mouse hat on the dining room table.

But honestly? I miss the mess. I miss the noise. I miss the kids. I'm heartbroken to say goodbye to August.

Of course, it isn't really goodbye. I'll try to see as many of them as I can - at least once a week or every other week. But it isn't the same as having them here for days and evenings, swinging on the porch, playing game after game, reading books until the pages curl.

I loved having the sinks filled with cups and dishes, keeping the oven ready for the next pan of French fries, and constantly replenishing the cereal. I loved the noise. I even loved the bimba races around the kitchen.

Apparently, I am the grandmother who misses the chaos.

HOLDING ON TO SUMMER

So I did as many things as I could to prolong our being together.

I took the girls for our annual back-to-school shopping spree. We commandeered dressing rooms in stores all over the mall, because when one girl finds a cute top, suddenly cute tops are popping up all over the store for the other cousins. And of course, they must try everything on at the same time.

I think the women and girls waiting in line to get into the try-on rooms were watching their goings-on like an internet reality show.

(This year, two of the guys joined us, but that was an exception to our yearly adventure. Culture shock. They didn't know what hit them.)

GRAPE HARVESTS

And then there were the Friday Grape Harvests. So far, there have been two.

Some kids came over in the afternoon and picked as many grapes as they could in an hour. Then I served them pizza, we played pen-and-paper games, and eventually the ones who had to go home kissed me goodbye and hopped on the bus.

This year's grape harvest has been amazing. The kids found grapes hiding everywhere on the vines - behind my wooden bench, along the sides of the palm trees, tucked into places I never knew grapes could grow.

The big kids climbed up to reach the clusters hanging from the top of the metal trellis. I held the ladder with one hand and a bowl with the other. They tossed the grape clusters into the bowl. They didn't always hit the mark. Sometimes it was absolutely raining grapes.

And there were so many.

This year's harvest has already produced dozens of kilos of grapes, and there are more to come. I think the vines felt something was happening. I think they know the children have gone back to school.

Because somehow, after an entire summer of having grandchildren underfoot, there are still grapes hiding everywhere. Behind the bench. Along the palm trees. High up on the trellis. Just waiting to be found.

I think the grapes miss my grandchildren too.