Last week I had a frightening realization. I am a grandma. How did this happen, you ask? Don't worry, my oldest son is only 13 and isn't interested in girls. Here's how it went down:
A decade ago, my husband was the scoutmaster of a certain smart mouthed kid. This kid was so obnoxious that my husband decided that either he was going to kill him, or learn to love him. Love him, he did. Thomas worked for my husband until we moved, and after he turned 18, he came to live with us. Thomas and I butted heads, engaged in pitched battles of will, but we became family. He left on his mission to Argentina, and returned soooo grateful for all the grief I gave him over table manners and what not to say to a lady. Example: "Wow, I'm surprised, this dinner is actually good!" is not a compliment. He's been a fantastic big brother/uncle to our boys. In fact, he's been our boy's scout leaders at times. How's that for irony? He and my sweety are tight. Next to me, he's my husband's closest friend. The three of us have had more late-night story-telling, laughing-till-you-cry times than I can count.
Final Post
3 years ago
5 comments:
It's all about family! And who said you don't get to choose your family!
Congratulations on being a grammie!
Huh! You ARE a grandma! They look very happy. She is a cutie! Maybe you can play with her hair and stuff! (o:
So are you going to start ratting your hair and pull your pants up past your belly button, and let her slap your arm flags around? If not, you may be a grandma by name only...
Ok, I'm not ready for that. But she does follow me around asking me why I do things, and she lets me pick her up and give her kisses. I'm just not ready for arm flags. The thought of those chills my soul.
The wife is gorgeous and the baby a doll!
Post a Comment