Out of the Mouths of Babes - the Sequil

The day after Aidan uttered his words immortalized in last week's blog, Bryce came for a visit.  Having flourished through his first decade of life, Bryce is now a seasoned sojourner.  Ok, he may just be slightly salty, but it's a start!

We were viewing masks made of his father's and each of his uncles' faces, all done a couple of decades ago.  Bella asked who was who.  Bryce, noting his senior status, took on the challenge.  "This one is Dad," he said, pointing to the one in the middle.  Correct!  "And this one is Uncle Corey," he continued pointing to the one on the left.  Two for two!  "That means this one is Uncle Court."

"No," I teased, "that one is Grampa."  He took a second long look, just to be sure.

"No, Granma, Grampa isn't that hideous."  (Ouch - sorry Court!)  "If he was that hideous, you wouldn't have married him."  (Insert much giggling here from among the assembled.)

"So, Bryce, aren't you glad he wasn't hideous?  Cuz if we didn't get married, your Dad wouldn't be here and without your Dad, you wouldn't be here."  This caused a pause for reflection - followed by renewed giggling.

Thank you, Babe, for being the Grampa to my Granma.  And thanks for not being hideous.  Your oldest grandboy thanks you, too!

Universally True

I grew up in a family where there was always room for one more.  I don't exactly remember my parents saying that, but I never remember being denied when I asked if a friend could come over for dinner.  There were already seven of us gathered around the table, but eight had a good ring to it.  One year we had a foreign exchange student, so adding a friend stretched us to nine.  There was always enough.

When my eldest, Colin, was a whole three months old, we discovered that our family would be growing again.  I remember watching my baby sleep and wondering if I could love another one as much as I loved him.  But the moment Corey was born, all doubt disappeared.  Love is not a static quantity that must be divided among the interested parties.  It is elastic.  Even that doesn't describe how love works.  Elastic can be confining.  It gets stretched and sometimes breaks.  Love just keeps expanding - like the universe, or so I'm told.  I haven't measured the heavens lately, nor have I figured out how to measure love.  Maybe there is no reason to measure either...

Universally speaking, grandbabies are a black hole of a whole different kind - the best kind!  Whether the black hole is blue or pink, the gravitational pull is so strong that it sucks you right in and never lets you go.  I wouldn't have it any other way.

In my experience, babies have come home within a couple of days of their birth day.  The excitement of the birth hasn't worn off - seeing the 10 fingers and toes for myself, kissing their peach fuzzy heads, even changing a diaper is confirmation of new life.  "This is real," it shouts.

Last week, two little bundles of pink came home.  It was a long anticipated homecoming, and well worth the wait.  To hold Faith and Naomi together, nearly four months after they first made their appearance. well, it made them real, too.  It's like a child waiting for summer vacation.  Just when you give up that it will ever happen, it arrives, and all the pent up excitement and anticipation does not disappoint.

The Harris universe has expanded.  It is not at all an uncomfortable stretch nor does anything about it diminish another's share.  It just got bigger to accommodate two wee little baby girls. We are all standing in line waiting our turn to shower Faith and Naomi with four months worth of kisses:  their parents, brothers, cousins, aunts and uncles, Granma and, as you can see, Grampa, too.

Welcome home, love bugs, and welcome to the family.  We love you!

Picture Perfect

Granma and Naomi

I'm a writer.  OK, I'm not quite as famous as, say, Stephen King or Erma Bombeck.  But the three of us have something in common:  we write because we must.  Well, Erma doesn't write anymore, and I didn't/don't know either personally.  But I feel confident in my assessment.  I think better with my eyes closed sitting at a keyboard letting the words flow out my fingertips.  And the words from my fingers are more trust worthy and true than the ones from my mouth.  Of course, I make great use of the delete key, as well as Control X and Control V.  Verbal conversation is much more problematic on that front.

My husband, Ken (the Grampa to my Granma), is a photographer.  He frequently sees something different than the rest of us when he has a camera in his hand.  It's a zen thing - I've seen it, I admire it, and I am not capable of it.  I take snap shots, which are very different and rather pedestrian, though they make me happy.  Viva la difference.

We could probably debate endlessly on whether a picture is really worth a thousand words.  We could, but it takes time for me to relay to my computer keyboard the essence of my 1000 words.  He tires of the wait and wanders off with his camera to capture the world.  BTW, his Lightroom and Photoshop programs are pretty time intensive, too.  What can I say?  It works for us.

Last week, though I got to hold two very special baby girls, Faith and Naomi.  They are not quite 3 months old, tipping the scales at 4 pounds each, and it's the first time I have even touched one of them.  To hold those little girls and feel them squirm and kiss their peach-fuzz heads.  Christine captured this picture (thank you!).  And for once, I just might be speechless - and wordless.  My fingers don't know what to type next.  It's not exactly that I have no words, it's just that so many words flood my senses that I can't keep up!

However, see sentence number one of this blog.  They require me to write a few words as they bubble to the top:

Miracles

Beautiful

Precious

PINK

Adorable

Wonder

Glorious Gifts of God

Grandgirlies

Possibilities

Potential

Pure, unadulterated LOVE

Naomi with the sticky-uppy peach fuzz

Faith with the well coiffed hair

Score one for photography.  These pictures says more than this writer can put into words. This Granma is in love all over again!

At the Zoo

With a generous word assist from Paul Simon
And photo assist from Ken Harris
(Those Granmas and Grampas among you can sing along to this blog!)

Someone told me

It's all happening at the zoo

I do believe it

I do believe it's true

 The monkeys stand for honesty
(when they aren't photo bombing)

Giraffes are insincere
(and downright rude!)

And the elephants are kindly
but they're dumb

Ourang-outangs are skeptical

Of changes in their cages
(but oh, so cute!!!)

And the zookeeper is very fond of rum
(no, actually, margaritas)

What a gas

Ya gotta come and see

At the zoo

More fun than a barrel full of Bella!

Please don't feed the animals!

Beware escapes!

Music to the Ears

Being a toddler means play, right?  Their play is the stuff of learning, so really, their play is hard work - probably harder than most adults work. With any luck, they sleep hard, too.  At least parents certainly hope so when they tuck those little formerly busy bodies with eyes that droop and sometimes leak.  Bed is often the best place for a whiny toddler, and it is certainly a parent's best friend.  Well, bed or Granma's house - but even Granma magic only works for a limited time against the deeper necessary magic of sleep.  (Side note:  the real problem is when the toddler grows up and exceeds Granma's bedtime, but that is a blog of a different color.)

Toys come in all shapes and sizes: from Lego fashioned into stairways or cars, to boxes with a myriad of uses, to the grandest toys of all - TA DA - a grand piano!  A piano is like a grandboy magnet.  The force of the attraction between fingers and keys is equal to the enjoyment of little ears and opposite to that of big ears.  Loud and repetitive - oh (grand)boy!

Josiah, in particular, loves the piano.  He gets a serious, reverent look on his face as he approaches the keys.  But when he tickles the ivories, they tickle him back. And when his Grampa plays a duet with him, it is pure magic.

I guess that one of the grandest parts of the instrument is the way it can span the generations.  And it is sweet, sweet music to my ears...