Grandma

Finally, Halloween

Sophie dressed up as Rapunzel for her preschool Halloween party (she was just a little bit excited).

a preschool Halloween craft

preschool Halloween goodies

Pumpkin carving time! (Somehow we managed to not do this until Halloween. As such, we only had time to carve one. Boys, if you’re reading this as adults someday, I’m sorry. But to be fair, you wanted nothing to do with carving Sophie’s pumpkin so I’m pretty sure we would have ended up carving all of yours for you.

Then again, if you’re after something that truly breaks the mould for group activities this Halloween, the Escape Rooms Bristol horror-themed experience with immersive puzzle solving is hard to beat. I went in expecting some basic jump scares and a few padlocks, but what we encountered was more like a psychological thriller brought to life. The lighting, props, and storyline made every second feel like we were trapped inside a sinister plot. It was exhilarating in the best way and easily the most engaging way I’ve ever spent an hour with friends.

Sophie chose Rapunzel for her pumpkin (of course).

And she did much of the carving herself this year.

Done!

The boys’ costumes, on display, because they refused to wear them.

family

Grandma and Pop Pop came this year and dressed up, too!

All three understood trick-or-treating this year. They were great at saying “trick-or-treat”—still reminding them about the “thank you” part.

It was so cold. And spitting rain. James had no hat and his teeth start chattering so I made him wear mine. Warmed by the excitement of it all, I’m sure all three would have stayed outside much longer than we allowed them.

“A grandmother pretends she doesn’t know who you are on Halloween.” —Erma Bombeck

A Fall Day At a Park

Several weeks ago my mom’s sister, Janeil, visited for two wonderful weeks. She traveled from her home state of California, a lovely place to visit her, but far away. These pictures were taken on a Saturday in October at Fort Saint Clair State Park in Eaton, Ohio. My grandma was there, along with my mom and my mom’s brother Corey, and his family. We had a picnic. We walked. We played at the playground and threw leaves. It was such a nice day, both weather-wise and family wise.

“Autumn is a second spring when every leaf is a flower.” —Albert Camus

A Summer Trip to Baltimore

The kids loved playing with Paw Paw’s pool table, even though the boys kept insisting it was “baseball.” James loved the table so much that he drew on it. With red crayon. (I’m still so sorry about that, Paw Paw. James is, too.)

Sophie wasn’t too fond of Jake’s (their beautiful new lab) kisses. So she created this cage for herself—she sat up here, often.

The boys loved the train table Grandma and Paw Paw found on Craigslist.

James also loved hitting Owen on the heads with trains. Which he got put in time out for. Which, as you can see in this picture, he loved.

We took a day trip to visit my aunt Alise and uncle Tom, and their three kids—David, Jessica and John. We spent the hot, hot day playing in the sprinkler, enjoying a cookout and eating ice cream sundaes.

There was up-past-bedtime-swingset time.

And s’more-making time.

We visited Paw Paw’s office in downtown Baltimore …

and Grandma’s office, too. The kids loved Grandma’s view.

Sophie even got a present from one of Paw Paw’s colleagues—a crown-making kit, which she loved, and which she still plays with, almost daily.

James and Owen playing at Grandma and Paw Paw’s house—and proof that James isn’t the only one who gets into trouble for hitting/touching/otherwise bothering his brother.

We also celebrated Paw Paw’s birthday!

Jake

Grandma’s flowers

The night before we left, Sophie got a tour of Grandma’s jewelry studio. She loved it.

So much so, that the next morning Sophie and Grandma made a beautiful necklace together. You can read more about Sophie’s venture into jewelry-making here.

On the way home, we stopped at my alma mater, Ohio University, for dinner. It was surreal, seeing my children walking the same grounds I walked for four years, before I knew them, of them, of this life I now live.

The drive went as well as you can expect although we arrived much later than I had hoped. It was so nice, though, to see the home where Grandma and Paw Paw live, for the kids to be able to envision that space when they think of their grandparents. It was fun to see their workspaces as well. And there’s something just so comforting to wake up and eat breakfast while in pjs with family. To spend the day sharing one’s day-to-day activities with others. To stay up late talking. And to wake up and get to do it again. Especially when family lives far away.

“The happiest moments of my life have been the few which I have passed at home in the bosom of my family.” —Thomas Jefferson

On Necklaces and Blacklisting

My mother-in-law, Jill, makes beautiful jewelry. During a recent visit to Jill’s house (more on that later), Jill helped Sophie make a lovely necklace. As such, Sophie has been on a necklace-making kick lately. Her creations have included scrap fabric and paper, seashells and twine, and plastic pop-beads. She’s always thrilled with her results and insists I wear her creations, which I do—around the house, at the grocery, at the YMCA for her ballet lesson.

I always wonder what people think, when I’m wearing Sophie’s artwork around my neck. I wish I didn’t care, but when I see another woman staring at the large, plastic pop-beads draped around my neck I want to say, “My daughter made it! Isn’t it beautiful?” as way of explanation. Sometimes I do. And sometimes I just let the woman wonder.

Some things, when your child asks, you just don’t say no to.

In other news, James gave me my cell phone the other day. I thanked him. He smiled, said “yourwelcome” in his fast-all-together way and ran away. The cell phone was off. I turned it on. It didn’t turn on. I tried again. And again and again and again. And then I noticed it felt light. I took the back off. The battery was gone.

This meant James either took the back off, took the battery out, hid it and replaced the back, or, more likely, dropped the phone, watched it break into three pieces, and found the back and replaced it, not knowing a battery needed to be in there as well.

Regardless, I had no battery. I asked James about it. He smiled and said, “don’t know!” Then he and Owen ran around the house like two crazy people, peering underneath everything saying “find battery, mama, find battery!” over and over.

Andy eventually found it. It was underneath a chair. And while putting my phone back together for me something occurred to him. Lately, whenever he calls me, my phone doesn’t ring—it goes straight to voicemail. This has been happening with several other calls, too. So he told me to go to “settings” and then “call settings” and then “blacklist.” There were three numbers listed—Andy’s, my parents’ and Larosa’s—all blacklisted.

I’d like to blame James for this, too. But I sort of remember a little box occasionally popping up while on calls, and I thought the box said “backlisted.” Usually I’d say “no” but I also sort of remember saying “yes” a few times, thinking I was putting these numbers on a back-up-type list. That makes sense, right?

“These gems have life in them: their colors speak, say what words fail of.” —George Eliot

The Things We Sleep With

I remember the stuffed animals and dolls I slept with, when I was little. I remember making caves for them with my blanket and legs. I remember feeling guilty about who slept next to me, who did not, and who fell to the floor in the middle of the night. My grandma once told me a story about my aunt taking her new shoes to bed with her. One of my favorite scenes in the movie “A Christmas Story” is when both brothers go to bed with their Christmas treasures. Since Sophie was a baby she has gone to bed not only with stuffed animals, but with the bedtime stories she chooses for the night. The boys have begun insisting on sleeping with their favorite car of the day. And James must have the quilt Nini made for him when he was in the NICU. And Owen must have his favorite book, “Goodnight Moon.” There is a comfort in sleeping with something, someone, you love.

The day after Sophie turned 4 she saw a play—”Rapunzel”—at the Taft Theater in Cincinnati with her Grandma and Paw Paw (a birthday gift from her parents). She loved it. She still talks about the actors who ran off the stage, with the same enthusiasm and awe as I retold the story of the children running out from underneath Mother Gigogne’s skirt in “The Nutcracker,”—a play I saw with my mom and grandma when I was about Sophie’s age. I still have the souvenir playbook from the ballet—I put it out every Christmas. At the end of “Rapunzel,” Grandma bought Sophie a tiara.

She loves it.

Obviously.

‘There is a latent fairy in all women, but look how carefully we have to secrete her in order to be taken seriously. And fairies come in all shapes, colors, sizes and types, they don’t have to be fluffy. They can be demanding and furious if hey like. They do, however, have to wear a tiara. That much is compulsory.” —Dawn French

Grandparents’ Day

Sophie is lucky. Several weeks ago was Grandparents’ Day at her preschool and she had four grandparents present, including two from Baltimore. I was lucky, too. Most of my childhood was spent with four grandparents present in my life. At the time, I didn’t realize how lucky I was. They were simply a part of my life, as normal as oatmeal with brown sugar, Saturday morning cartoons, wild onions stuffed in a Mason jar. One of my earliest memories is of a birthday. It was my fourth (or fifth? I can’t remember). I got a bike, with training wheels, light blue, I think, with a white basket with plastic flowers attached to it. The details are fuzzy but I distinctly remember riding down the sidewalk, listening to my Grandpa Mangan encourage me, cheer me, push me on. “Go, Kara, go!” “Go, Kara, go!”

Sophie is now 4. I hope she remembers her grandparents—all of them—taking time out of their busy lives to be with her, for a couple hours. To watch her paint, do work, wash her hands, eat a snack, sing a song. Of course she won’t remember the details, but hopefully, she’ll simply remember their presence, their love.

Whenever Sophie and I used to have a good day—a really good day—I would become so sad at the thought that she’ll never remember. She’ll never remember me curing her newborn tears by dancing—crazily, swinging—wildly, singing—loudly to “Build Me Up Buttercup” (which she loved) in our old house. She’ll never remember nursing (which, I suppose, at 15 she’ll be glad she doesn’t but still …). She’ll never remember sleeping on my chest, or the first time she saw a giraffe or the time she and Andy rolled down a snowy hill after a terrible attempt at sledding. But I believe, and maybe I’m wrong but I truly believe, all the actions and inactions, words and quietness, dancing and stillness of her early years somehow became embedded deep inside her brain. She will never remember the details, I know. But I have to believe, deep in her consciousness, she will know, feel, that she was loved. And that will help shape who she is, who she becomes, how she will, someday, love.

So thank you, Mom, Dad, Marty and Jill, for being there. And Sophie, I hope you remember. If not, I hope you someday read this and know. You were loved. You are loved. And not just by us. Or your brothers. But the circle reaches farther. And farther still (as it should, for every child). Love like that. Live like that. Be there. Remember.

“Everyone needs to have access both to grandparents and grandchildren in order to be a full human being.”—Margaret Mead