Well, it's happened again. My step-daughter, Laura, and her husband welcomed baby Matthew Jackson to the world on Saturday afternoon. So, now, I'm twice a grandmother.
I could tell that something had changed in my worldview when, on a recent trip to Central America, I took photo after photo of little kids. Not something I would have ever thought of doing in my pre-grandmother days. I never really liked kids, but now, at least through the camera, I can't get enough of their faces, full of innocent trust and wonder.
And holding baby Jack on Sunday afternoon melted my heart. I was afraid to hold him at first. At 7 pounds 8 ounces, he weighs less than half of one of my cats. But I held him and managed not to drop him and fell in love.
Now I have to work on my Grandmother name. I don't like "Grandma." Not at all. It's just not me. "Grandma" was my mother-in-law and I think it should stay hers. I just don't feel right taking her title. "Oma" is a Dutch word for grandmother, and since I have Dutch heritage, I think that's appropriate. And it doesn't step on the toes of the other two grandmothers in the equation. And Oma is easy, I think, for little ones to say. So, Oma it is.
Tuesday, March 22, 2011
Wednesday, March 2, 2011
Signs of Spring
Yesterday was the first of March, and this year, this far into this winter of non-stop snow and bitter cold, it felt like a huge relief to turn the calendar to a new page. Frost heaves are turning roads into mogul courses; it's annoying, but a sure sign that winter is on its way out.
I was at my desk yesterday afternoon, working on a budget for our fast-approaching retirement, when a movement outside the window caught my eye. My backyard is an apple orchard, ancient gnarly apple trees standing stark against the white snow encasing them halfway up their trunks. I looked out and saw two birds hopping about on top of the snow crust. My brain computed that they weren't crows; the crows tend to hang out in the front yard. I watched for a moment, and one of the birds turned so I could see his bright red breast, and I realized I was watching the first two robins of spring.
I was so excited I instantly e-mailed my friends with the news, "ROBINS!" With that sighting, I know spring really is close at hand.
My neighbor, who has spent part of nearly every day this winter snowshoeing through our fields and woods, is sad that most of the snow is behind us and the days of good snowshoeing are numbered, but I'm delighted. Longer days and warmer sunshine are right up my alley.
Welcome back, robins, from wherever you spent the winter. You're a good sign.
I was at my desk yesterday afternoon, working on a budget for our fast-approaching retirement, when a movement outside the window caught my eye. My backyard is an apple orchard, ancient gnarly apple trees standing stark against the white snow encasing them halfway up their trunks. I looked out and saw two birds hopping about on top of the snow crust. My brain computed that they weren't crows; the crows tend to hang out in the front yard. I watched for a moment, and one of the birds turned so I could see his bright red breast, and I realized I was watching the first two robins of spring.
I was so excited I instantly e-mailed my friends with the news, "ROBINS!" With that sighting, I know spring really is close at hand.
My neighbor, who has spent part of nearly every day this winter snowshoeing through our fields and woods, is sad that most of the snow is behind us and the days of good snowshoeing are numbered, but I'm delighted. Longer days and warmer sunshine are right up my alley.
Welcome back, robins, from wherever you spent the winter. You're a good sign.
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