Cyndi and I met our daughter Katie in Abilene last Saturday, where Katie handed off her own two daughters, Madden (age 4.3) and Landry (age 0.9), and 300 pounds of baby gear, so the girls could spend a week with their Gran and Pops. And honestly, it’s taken all week to remember how we used to leverage little kids into our full lives. Of course, Cyndi spent the most time with the girls. She took them to play with Pattie’s two grandsons, took them to swimming lessons, to the Children’s Museum, to the water park in Andrews, and everywhere else. I’m sure she has more stories and insights than me, but she’ll have to write her own blog.
I had the girls to myself each evening while Cyndi taught her classes. It went like this …
“Look girls, Grand made us Neelix Rolls, a family favorite” “Pops, can I have another one?” “What would our mom say?” “Well, what do YOU say?” “Sure. Here you go.”
“Pops, do you know how to skip?” “Not anymore.”
“Pops, can you read this book to me?” while holding a copy of Confessions, by St. Augustine. “Sure, Madden, come back in twenty years.”
“Here is another sticker for your shirt. It’s a sparkle star.” “It looks great on my black polo.”
“Pops, will you fix my hair?” as we walked into church. And then when it became clear I had no idea how to do it, “Call Gran on your phone so she can come fix my hair.”
“Hey Pops, what does a Monarch Butterfly say?” “African or European?”
“Do you have Hello Kitty on your phone?” “Not since Gran made me take it off.”
"When will this race ever be done, Pops?" while sitting my lap watching the Tour de France. “In three weeks.” “That’s too long.”
Some of my deepest spiritual roots come from the summers I spent with my grandparents. They invested their lives and faith in me, and I benefit from that still, fifty years later.
Spending a week with Madden and Landry is a call to action. I’m already looking forward to next time.