July's Random Pics
11 years ago
Showing posts with label Grammyhood. Show all posts
Showing posts with label Grammyhood. Show all posts
Tuesday, June 16, 2009
Last night
Clayton and Michele got in and today we spent the day at the Calder's, then all of us went out for dinner at Carraba's. The food was excellent, but the best part was looking around the table at my whole family, watching the little ones stuffing pasta, and listening to the banter. I love each one of them so much! On Friday we go to Ocean City for the weekend to play on the beach and celebrate Father's Day. And I'm feeling stronger every day. Blessings...blessings...
Friday, September 26, 2008
Sweet September Morning
6:30 AM, my first morning back in California, Clayton brought a sleepy Rolan in my room and put him in my arms.
Tuesday, July 29, 2008
The Cutest Baby Ever
It's been awhile since I've posted any pictures of Rolan. Is he adorable or what?! I think he's about 7 months in this picture. He seems to have the same happy disposition that Clayton had as a baby. I miss Rolan so much and look forward to loving on him while he's still little. 
Thursday, April 24, 2008
Potty Mouth; Same Stuff, Different Generation
I was responding to Chantel's recent post about Owen's potty mouth when I realized that I was creating an entry worthy of its own space. So here goes.
Living with the Calders is wonderful, interesting, happy, and safe, but sometimes with a little bit of "Oh, no!" thrown in. I'm referring to the things I see Owen doing that Brandon did 25 years ago. A part of me says, "No. I'm not going there. I already raised my kids. Now I just want to be Grammy." But living with grandchildren creates another whole dynamic that I didn't think much about when I was just visiting. The discipline role is mine by default along with all the other roles that being a grandmother offer. Tel and Austin and I have had talks about what works and what doesn't and I think we do a pretty fair job of being consistent. At least we keep trying. And Owen keeps trying us to make sure that we're always learning. One 'parent' might be stronger or more consistent about bedtime, or table manners, or disrespectful behavior than another, or one may ignore a little more than another before 'counting.' One really doesn't want to be "Monster Grammy" so that one finds herself giving little warnings before counting, but I won't mention which one that is. But no matter what's happening with Owen's growth (and Soren's too, although Owen tests more often right now), there's always the surprise reminder that as much as I learned as a parent, I still fall right back into the old patterns, even though it's been 19 years since I've had a 6-year-old, and almost 26 years since Brandon was one. I always thought if I had it to do over, I'd be such a great parent and so incredibly consistent and wise. Humph! I'm aware of when I'm being less than perfectly consistent with Owen. What keeps surprising me is that the older I get, I'm still just me--imperfections and all. Now having said all that, I'll get to what prompted all this to begin with.
Owen's potty mouth is slowly getting better. But progress is never made in a perfect upward line. It's always two steps forward and a step or two back. Most of the time I either ignore Owen's mouth, or I count, and he's getting better about stopping at 2 instead of going to his room at 3. But once in awhile he catches me completely off guard and I have to turn away so he doesn't see me suppressing a laugh. Once in awhile he even unknowingly creates a situation wherein the best response is to laugh.
For example, a couple of days after coming back from California, Idaho, and Brandon's funeral services, I was feeling pretty dazed. Owen and I were at the table together doing art. Chantel and Austin were outside or down the hall and Marti, Austin's mother, was somewhere in the house too. She had come for a visit. Suddenly, Owen, out of the quiet blue says, "Grammy? My Mom farts. Do you think my mom farts? And I think her farts stink. Don't you think so? Grammy? Grammy? I'm sure my Mom farts--a lot. My mom farts every day. Grammy, are you listening?" Now I didn't think this was funny, but this was one of those weird moments when I was completely ambushed by his quick little mind. I didn't say anything, nor did I even hint at a smile. In fact, I didn't even look up. I just continued to work on my painting. But I quickly realized that this one-sided conversation was getting out of hand. Just like ignoring a situation never worked with Brandon, it doesn't work with Owen either. He became more determined than ever to get my attention. And now that I'm thinking about it, given the terribly sad state of affairs at our house, perhaps he wanted me to laugh right then more than ever. But I didn't. And right about the delayed-reaction moment that I opened my mouth to say something I hoped would be effective, Marti steps around the corner and says something to the effect of, "Owen, you will stop what you're saying immediately and you will talk about something else, do you understand?" It was not only the statement, but the way it was delivered, with the perfect cadence, the precisely perfect inflections in her voice, and the slight but oh so effectively placed pause. I couldn't look at Marti, but I'm certain she had her eyebrows positioned perfectly as well. There's no way one can say something like that without having mastered the technique of precision eyebrow positioning. Owen was stopped in his tracks, while I sat there and wondered if I could have made a delivery with as much authority as Marti did.
In my defense, I claim environment and perhaps even genetics. I was the middle child, the peace maker, the "good one," and the one my younger brother dubbed "Polly Pure Heart." Talk about living up to a standard! Therefore, I have never associated myself with words like "authoritative" or "strict." Even "consistent" had a rather mean sound to it. "Sweet" is the adjective I've most often heard, in fact, as recently as last night on the telephone with my mother! I think it's too late for me. I was the kind of child that an adult had only to raise his or her eyebrow a certain way--and a single one at that--or lift a pointer finger in a silent warning, and I would cease and desist any thing remotely resembling bad or even improper behavior. I never got a spanking. I never had my mouth washed out with soap, and I can't remember even being sent to my room (unless it was for do-overs since shoving everything into a neat pile in the middle of the floor didn't constitute cleaning my room). Probably most of my biggest infractions were laughing at my brothers' potty mouths--partly because they were funny, and partly from the excitement of living vicariously through my them. But I never got in trouble for laughing.
Fast forward 40 years. Owen had just pulled a fast one. I remained stoic at the table that day, but my mouth was probably still hanging open when Marti turned around and left the room after the perfect delivery of the perfect one-liner. I wondered for a fleeting moment if I should feel embarrassed-- a six-year-old getting the better of me, and I think he had been just about to realize that if he hadn't already. Instead of putting myself down though, I felt grateful--grateful that Marti grew up as the oldest of seven children, including a set of twins. Somebody had to do it! And as fast as Owen was on the draw, Marti aimed to kill, and she didn't miss. She comes by her skills naturally just like I do. Mine just don't happen to be in the consistent parent realm. Unlike me, Marti did not grow up with illusions of the power of the eyebrows. She came. She conquered. She left. Just like that! And she made it look easy! But for me it really isn't.
In the future, for serious infractions, like the one Owen made by disrespecting his mother, I hope I'm a little bit faster in speaking up and a little firmer at how I sound. If I pretend to be someone else, I may just pull it off. If, on the other hand, you happen to be visiting and see me turn away from Owen as I try to hide a smile, know that I'm not laughing so much at what Owen has said, although every potty mouth little boy seems to think he's come up with something original. No, I'm smiling because I'm looking back over the years and realizing, potty mouth may be squelched but it will never die. It was around long before either Marti or I came along and it will be here a long time after we're gone. And yet, as parents and grandparents, we're obligated to do our best to at least keep it to a dull roar.
Potty mouth doesn't begin at six even though we continue to hope that we might have it controlled by 6 and 3/4. Unfortunately, it doesn't end at sixteen either, although it does seem to be less prevalent during the dating years, but after that? Well, you tell me. Does potty mouth ever end? Really? How many males do you know who never, ever resort to some comment about body parts or body functions as a source of humor? And I'm not saying that women don't use it too (nor am I talking about filth or abuse of the sacred masquerading as humor). It's just that in my experience, I can't think of a single male, either close friend or family member, who doesn't slip into the old funny once in awhile.
So for those of you who feel righteous indignation that I sometimes laugh at the improper, or the little boy crude I can only, in my defense, tell you that I grew up with an older and younger brother, raised two boys, and heard plenty of potty mouth from other adults (all males mind you) all in the guise of "Oh, boy, isn't this hilarious?" and age was never a determining factor. I heard it throughout my life and given certain company, I hear it still! I'll bet money that even you who don't laugh now, laughed plenty when you were a kid and you're still tempted on occasion. See if you can find someone who never slips up. But asking your boss about this when he's in a three-piece suit doesn't count. Try asking your girlfriend about her ex-husband instead. She might even tell you about the time they were playing this game called "Revenge of the Rotten Eggs"... And I don't care how old you are. When she tells you the truth--you're gonna laugh.
Living with the Calders is wonderful, interesting, happy, and safe, but sometimes with a little bit of "Oh, no!" thrown in. I'm referring to the things I see Owen doing that Brandon did 25 years ago. A part of me says, "No. I'm not going there. I already raised my kids. Now I just want to be Grammy." But living with grandchildren creates another whole dynamic that I didn't think much about when I was just visiting. The discipline role is mine by default along with all the other roles that being a grandmother offer. Tel and Austin and I have had talks about what works and what doesn't and I think we do a pretty fair job of being consistent. At least we keep trying. And Owen keeps trying us to make sure that we're always learning. One 'parent' might be stronger or more consistent about bedtime, or table manners, or disrespectful behavior than another, or one may ignore a little more than another before 'counting.' One really doesn't want to be "Monster Grammy" so that one finds herself giving little warnings before counting, but I won't mention which one that is. But no matter what's happening with Owen's growth (and Soren's too, although Owen tests more often right now), there's always the surprise reminder that as much as I learned as a parent, I still fall right back into the old patterns, even though it's been 19 years since I've had a 6-year-old, and almost 26 years since Brandon was one. I always thought if I had it to do over, I'd be such a great parent and so incredibly consistent and wise. Humph! I'm aware of when I'm being less than perfectly consistent with Owen. What keeps surprising me is that the older I get, I'm still just me--imperfections and all. Now having said all that, I'll get to what prompted all this to begin with.
Owen's potty mouth is slowly getting better. But progress is never made in a perfect upward line. It's always two steps forward and a step or two back. Most of the time I either ignore Owen's mouth, or I count, and he's getting better about stopping at 2 instead of going to his room at 3. But once in awhile he catches me completely off guard and I have to turn away so he doesn't see me suppressing a laugh. Once in awhile he even unknowingly creates a situation wherein the best response is to laugh.
For example, a couple of days after coming back from California, Idaho, and Brandon's funeral services, I was feeling pretty dazed. Owen and I were at the table together doing art. Chantel and Austin were outside or down the hall and Marti, Austin's mother, was somewhere in the house too. She had come for a visit. Suddenly, Owen, out of the quiet blue says, "Grammy? My Mom farts. Do you think my mom farts? And I think her farts stink. Don't you think so? Grammy? Grammy? I'm sure my Mom farts--a lot. My mom farts every day. Grammy, are you listening?" Now I didn't think this was funny, but this was one of those weird moments when I was completely ambushed by his quick little mind. I didn't say anything, nor did I even hint at a smile. In fact, I didn't even look up. I just continued to work on my painting. But I quickly realized that this one-sided conversation was getting out of hand. Just like ignoring a situation never worked with Brandon, it doesn't work with Owen either. He became more determined than ever to get my attention. And now that I'm thinking about it, given the terribly sad state of affairs at our house, perhaps he wanted me to laugh right then more than ever. But I didn't. And right about the delayed-reaction moment that I opened my mouth to say something I hoped would be effective, Marti steps around the corner and says something to the effect of, "Owen, you will stop what you're saying immediately and you will talk about something else, do you understand?" It was not only the statement, but the way it was delivered, with the perfect cadence, the precisely perfect inflections in her voice, and the slight but oh so effectively placed pause. I couldn't look at Marti, but I'm certain she had her eyebrows positioned perfectly as well. There's no way one can say something like that without having mastered the technique of precision eyebrow positioning. Owen was stopped in his tracks, while I sat there and wondered if I could have made a delivery with as much authority as Marti did.
In my defense, I claim environment and perhaps even genetics. I was the middle child, the peace maker, the "good one," and the one my younger brother dubbed "Polly Pure Heart." Talk about living up to a standard! Therefore, I have never associated myself with words like "authoritative" or "strict." Even "consistent" had a rather mean sound to it. "Sweet" is the adjective I've most often heard, in fact, as recently as last night on the telephone with my mother! I think it's too late for me. I was the kind of child that an adult had only to raise his or her eyebrow a certain way--and a single one at that--or lift a pointer finger in a silent warning, and I would cease and desist any thing remotely resembling bad or even improper behavior. I never got a spanking. I never had my mouth washed out with soap, and I can't remember even being sent to my room (unless it was for do-overs since shoving everything into a neat pile in the middle of the floor didn't constitute cleaning my room). Probably most of my biggest infractions were laughing at my brothers' potty mouths--partly because they were funny, and partly from the excitement of living vicariously through my them. But I never got in trouble for laughing.
Fast forward 40 years. Owen had just pulled a fast one. I remained stoic at the table that day, but my mouth was probably still hanging open when Marti turned around and left the room after the perfect delivery of the perfect one-liner. I wondered for a fleeting moment if I should feel embarrassed-- a six-year-old getting the better of me, and I think he had been just about to realize that if he hadn't already. Instead of putting myself down though, I felt grateful--grateful that Marti grew up as the oldest of seven children, including a set of twins. Somebody had to do it! And as fast as Owen was on the draw, Marti aimed to kill, and she didn't miss. She comes by her skills naturally just like I do. Mine just don't happen to be in the consistent parent realm. Unlike me, Marti did not grow up with illusions of the power of the eyebrows. She came. She conquered. She left. Just like that! And she made it look easy! But for me it really isn't.
In the future, for serious infractions, like the one Owen made by disrespecting his mother, I hope I'm a little bit faster in speaking up and a little firmer at how I sound. If I pretend to be someone else, I may just pull it off. If, on the other hand, you happen to be visiting and see me turn away from Owen as I try to hide a smile, know that I'm not laughing so much at what Owen has said, although every potty mouth little boy seems to think he's come up with something original. No, I'm smiling because I'm looking back over the years and realizing, potty mouth may be squelched but it will never die. It was around long before either Marti or I came along and it will be here a long time after we're gone. And yet, as parents and grandparents, we're obligated to do our best to at least keep it to a dull roar.
Potty mouth doesn't begin at six even though we continue to hope that we might have it controlled by 6 and 3/4. Unfortunately, it doesn't end at sixteen either, although it does seem to be less prevalent during the dating years, but after that? Well, you tell me. Does potty mouth ever end? Really? How many males do you know who never, ever resort to some comment about body parts or body functions as a source of humor? And I'm not saying that women don't use it too (nor am I talking about filth or abuse of the sacred masquerading as humor). It's just that in my experience, I can't think of a single male, either close friend or family member, who doesn't slip into the old funny once in awhile.
So for those of you who feel righteous indignation that I sometimes laugh at the improper, or the little boy crude I can only, in my defense, tell you that I grew up with an older and younger brother, raised two boys, and heard plenty of potty mouth from other adults (all males mind you) all in the guise of "Oh, boy, isn't this hilarious?" and age was never a determining factor. I heard it throughout my life and given certain company, I hear it still! I'll bet money that even you who don't laugh now, laughed plenty when you were a kid and you're still tempted on occasion. See if you can find someone who never slips up. But asking your boss about this when he's in a three-piece suit doesn't count. Try asking your girlfriend about her ex-husband instead. She might even tell you about the time they were playing this game called "Revenge of the Rotten Eggs"... And I don't care how old you are. When she tells you the truth--you're gonna laugh.
Friday, March 14, 2008
What will a quarter get you?
I'm sitting in a bathroom stall in Walmart and Owen is waiting for me outside the stall. Chantel and Soren are across the store.
"Grammy, what's this?"
Since I can't see what Owen's talking about, I tell him to wait and I'll let him know when I come out. Then I hear his little mind going to work..."Well, let's see, it takes quarters...I wonder what will happen if I put my quarter in here...maybe this gives disposable diapers! I can get one for Soren...let's see, right here..."
"Owen? Owen?" Too late. I hear the sound of a knob turning, and another woman's laughter. When I come out, Owen is laughing too. "Grammy, look what I got!" It isn't a disposable diaper! I telll him to put it in his pocket and give it to his mother. Right before we get back to Chantel, I see an older man coming toward us on the same aisle and before I can know what he's thinking, Owen whips out his 'prize,' holds it up and uses it like a musician's baton, accentuating every word, "Hey, can I tell you a funny story?" The man is in his sixties or early seventies and he looks from Owen to me and back to Owen while Owen tells his story and I can't shut him up nor can I get the 'prize' out of his little hand, so excited is he to share the humor. Finally, the man says, "Do you know what that is?" And Owen looks at him as if he doesn't know anything. "It's a tampon of course!" "Oh, I see," says the man and he grins and shakes his head while I try to herd Owen back to his mother.
"Grammy, what's this?"
Since I can't see what Owen's talking about, I tell him to wait and I'll let him know when I come out. Then I hear his little mind going to work..."Well, let's see, it takes quarters...I wonder what will happen if I put my quarter in here...maybe this gives disposable diapers! I can get one for Soren...let's see, right here..."
"Owen? Owen?" Too late. I hear the sound of a knob turning, and another woman's laughter. When I come out, Owen is laughing too. "Grammy, look what I got!" It isn't a disposable diaper! I telll him to put it in his pocket and give it to his mother. Right before we get back to Chantel, I see an older man coming toward us on the same aisle and before I can know what he's thinking, Owen whips out his 'prize,' holds it up and uses it like a musician's baton, accentuating every word, "Hey, can I tell you a funny story?" The man is in his sixties or early seventies and he looks from Owen to me and back to Owen while Owen tells his story and I can't shut him up nor can I get the 'prize' out of his little hand, so excited is he to share the humor. Finally, the man says, "Do you know what that is?" And Owen looks at him as if he doesn't know anything. "It's a tampon of course!" "Oh, I see," says the man and he grins and shakes his head while I try to herd Owen back to his mother.
Tuesday, December 25, 2007
Oh No! Grammy Caught in a Lie!
On Christmas Eve, Owen guessed what his Christmas present from me was under the assumption that I'd tell him if he guessed correctly. I found it in a store in Wyoming and he doesn't watch television, so of course there was no way he'd know what it was... I think I was redeemed though, when it turned out to be his most played with toy of the day.
Merry Christmas
"It's stocking time, Grammy!"
I open my eyes in the dark, waiting to hear the sound of Owen's feet running down the stairs. I've slept here for six nights, and I've been woken up by Owen six mornings. Usually it's just a sweet face with a smattering of freckles, inches from my face, (wake up, Grammy!) then Owen climbs in bed with me for a few minutes of snuggling and sometimes reading. This morning is different. The Christmas routine in this house is stockings first, breakfast, then opening gifts. In order to keep the too-large-to-wrap gifts from being seen, Santa put the stockings downstairs in the family room, right next to my room. Owen calls for me again, but today there's no eager face willing me out from beneath my down comforter. I sit up and swing my legs over the side of the bed. Old bones take a minute. Owen calls for me again, and I realize he is somewhere near, but the only light I see is coming through the well-windows. Owen calls it the crack of dawn, when there's light in the sky but the sun hasn't appeared yet. I follow the sound of his voice.
"Grammy, the light is right over there! You're looking right at it!" I flip on the switch and see Owen wrapped like a burrito sitting on the couch between two large stockings. He is ready and the sight of him waiting patiently in the dark makes me laugh. I guess Santa trumps Grammy this time.
I open my eyes in the dark, waiting to hear the sound of Owen's feet running down the stairs. I've slept here for six nights, and I've been woken up by Owen six mornings. Usually it's just a sweet face with a smattering of freckles, inches from my face, (wake up, Grammy!) then Owen climbs in bed with me for a few minutes of snuggling and sometimes reading. This morning is different. The Christmas routine in this house is stockings first, breakfast, then opening gifts. In order to keep the too-large-to-wrap gifts from being seen, Santa put the stockings downstairs in the family room, right next to my room. Owen calls for me again, but today there's no eager face willing me out from beneath my down comforter. I sit up and swing my legs over the side of the bed. Old bones take a minute. Owen calls for me again, and I realize he is somewhere near, but the only light I see is coming through the well-windows. Owen calls it the crack of dawn, when there's light in the sky but the sun hasn't appeared yet. I follow the sound of his voice.
"Grammy, the light is right over there! You're looking right at it!" I flip on the switch and see Owen wrapped like a burrito sitting on the couch between two large stockings. He is ready and the sight of him waiting patiently in the dark makes me laugh. I guess Santa trumps Grammy this time.
Monday, December 03, 2007
Soren meets Rolan 11.24.07
I'll trust my cousin Soren 'cuz my dad's here watchin' out for me.(I'd know Clayton's hands anywhere)
Owen meets Rolan 11.24.07
I think Owen is fascinated with his little cousin.
Look at these faces! I love their different expressions. This is one of my favorites of the photos that Chantel took.
The Most Beautiful Boys
Chantel took these and the photos above of her boys, Owen and Soren, meeting their new cousin, Rolan. These were taken at Beverly's house in Idaho when we all met there for Mother's funeral. I wish I could have seen this exchange in person, but Larry and Brandon and I were still driving from California. We arrived in Burley later that day. Look at the gentle sweetness on Soren's and Owen's faces.
Tuesday, November 20, 2007
Saturday, October 06, 2007
Clayton and Michele's little one
was born on Thursday, Oct 4, 2007. I cried when Clayton first put Rolan Andrew in my arms. He is so beautiful, with lots of thick dark hair and full round cheeks. Something happened to me, physically, when I met him. I won't try to explain it because I don't think I can do the experience justice and to try and fail would serve no purpose. What I can say for sure is that tiny perfect humans are gifts from heaven, and being a direct line recipient of that is a gift as well, a gift that I realize, not every woman gets to experience. I'm very grateful to be Grammy. I can't imagine me without her.
Michele had a long labor but she did well. I am so proud of both her and Clayton. They are tired but reveling in parenthood. After meeting Rolan, Larry exclaimed: "He's so gorgeous it makes you want to drink him in with your eyes--forever!" What a poetic Papa! I will post pictures as soon as I can get them emailed to me.
Michele had a long labor but she did well. I am so proud of both her and Clayton. They are tired but reveling in parenthood. After meeting Rolan, Larry exclaimed: "He's so gorgeous it makes you want to drink him in with your eyes--forever!" What a poetic Papa! I will post pictures as soon as I can get them emailed to me.
Sunday, July 29, 2007
What an Offer!
I received the sweetest phone call yesterday from Owen. He proudly told me that he had dialed the number by himself. He thanked me for the book I sent him, "The Boll Weevil Ball", reminded me that he has a soccer tournament coming up, and proudly told me that he was the one who came up with the name for his soccer team. Owen said everyone raised their hands that they liked the name 'the dragons' "except for Malcom." He then proceeded to tell me about his loose tooth and how he's going to get a silver dollar from the tooth fairy and his mother, who will get the silver dollar at a bank. And finally, "Grammy, when you come out to visit me, I'll let you wiggle it!" Thanks, Muffin!
Saturday, February 03, 2007
Happy Birthday Soren
Darling Chunky Monkey,
How I wish I could be with you on your very first birthday. I miss holding you and feeling those sweet kisses. Happy birthday, Sweetheart. You are precious and Grammy loves you more than words can say.
I wrote this Feb 3, 2006, 11:30 pm
Oh, sleep celestial state divine
tranquil rest refreshing
refrain from lingering this one time
Please grant this dear sought blessing
When daylight gently cracks the night
paints morning dawn with wonder
the baby born, the world so right--
Oh sun! Oh clouds! Oh thunder!
Then hear my gratitude, delight--
familial love expanded
The newborn soon within my sight
I pray this wish be granted
Cotton shades of tender blue
will swaddle sweetest joy
Owen's happy declaration:
Grammy, he's a boy!
How I wish I could be with you on your very first birthday. I miss holding you and feeling those sweet kisses. Happy birthday, Sweetheart. You are precious and Grammy loves you more than words can say.
I wrote this Feb 3, 2006, 11:30 pm
Oh, sleep celestial state divine
tranquil rest refreshing
refrain from lingering this one time
Please grant this dear sought blessing
When daylight gently cracks the night
paints morning dawn with wonder
the baby born, the world so right--
Oh sun! Oh clouds! Oh thunder!
Then hear my gratitude, delight--
familial love expanded
The newborn soon within my sight
I pray this wish be granted
Cotton shades of tender blue
will swaddle sweetest joy
Owen's happy declaration:
Grammy, he's a boy!
Friday, January 12, 2007
Voice Mail
Some messages are worth preserving, but since I don't have the know-how to transfer a phone message to this blog, at least I can record it by transcription:
Two days ago:
Soren fussing and the sound of bathtub water.
Chantel's voice in the background talking to Owen: "Say 'Hello, Grammy'"
"Hi Grammy, I love you SO MUCH...hum...thank you for visiting. Soren loves you too--that's why he's crying...hum...right now...hum...Love, hum, Owen and Mommy and Soren and Daddy."
Owen, I love YOU SO MUCH too! Remember, you're my original muffin!
Grammy xo
Two days ago:
Soren fussing and the sound of bathtub water.
Chantel's voice in the background talking to Owen: "Say 'Hello, Grammy'"
"Hi Grammy, I love you SO MUCH...hum...thank you for visiting. Soren loves you too--that's why he's crying...hum...right now...hum...Love, hum, Owen and Mommy and Soren and Daddy."
Owen, I love YOU SO MUCH too! Remember, you're my original muffin!
Grammy xo
Monday, December 25, 2006
Christmas Eve Day
There is something sublime about the simplicity of love and family. I am enjoying, actually basking, in the love of the Calder household--their love for each other, for family, for God. I'm reminded that these simple pleasures of tenderness and relationships are more important than any other endeavor we undertake during this life. Austin is such a devoted father. He has a wonderful job, but the minute he gets home from work, it's all about his family. He spends time playing with Owen every day, leads the family in prayer every night, and completely supports Chantel by helping with Soren whenever he can. In addition he is thoughtful and helpful to me. Chantel and Austin are a team, amazing parents, and a blessing in my life. I love you family!
Owen is a constant wonder and delight. He comes in my room every morning and wakes me up either singing (a french song from The Little Mermaid), pretending (sea urchins and fire-breathing but friendly dragons) or simply snuggling under the covers with me for all of 5 seconds before he says "Get up now, Grammy! Let's play!"
This past week we spent making treats, doing a little shopping, reading, making ornaments, wrapping gifts, attending the ward Christmas party, singing Christmas carols and hymns, having family night and once, eating out at Chevy's thanks to Brandon's generosity. (I highly recommend the chicken flautas). Yesterday, on Christmas Eve, I went to primary with Owen. It is always refreshing and uplifting to see the world through Owen's eyes. In class, the teacher asked who Adam and Eve were and one little boy said, "They were the first people born," to which Owen responded: "They weren't born, they were the first people on earth." Owen has an old spirit in that little body. I'm soaking up every bit of love I can from being with him and Soren.
Ward Party
This was all at the dinner table in the cultural hall. The food was great, but obviously this party was all about the kids!
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