Me
When we look back into our own history, we often wonder who we look like. I suppose it gives us a feeling of belonging to look at our ancestors and see a face there that is very similar to our own. Sometimes those faces are uncannily close to ours even. It seems to be a thought that comes and goes throughout our lives…or maybe it is just at the milestones in life.
Everyone asks the new parents, which one the baby most looks like, and it can be hard to tell when comparing babies to adults, so you look at the baby pictures of the parents for those clues. It is funny, however, when your granddaughter mistakes a picture of you for her. That is what happened to me recently. I had been told from the time she was born that Shai looked like me, and even she and I have noticed a resemblance as she gets older, but I have still had a hard time believing that this beautiful granddaughter I have could possibly take after me.
As she has grown up, she has begun to notice the similarities more and more, as have other people who see us together. It was something I never expected, and yet some pictures I see of us are…almost like a mirror image. I can’t explain how very blessed that makes me feel. I always knew too that her mother, my daughter, Amy looked quite a bit like me as well, but to have 3 generations that look alike is unusual to say the least. The cool thing for me is that unusual or not, that is exactly how it is in my family, and I kind of like that.
Through the years I have found myself looking at my aunts, and grandmothers to see if I look like anyone in particular. I have found that I look similar to my Aunt Ruth and I laugh like her too. I look at my mom and I find that she looks very much like her mom, as does my Aunt Evelyn and my cousin Shelley, who is also Aunt Evelyn’s daughter. My sister Cheryl reminds me quite a bit of my Aunt Sandy. It is simply in the genes. Some characteristics are more dominant than others, and those characteristics are passed along, from generation to generation.
Every year since they were born, we have taken Christmas pictures of my grandchildren together. Everyone loves to get those new pictures to compare with a year ago. Kids change so fast. Some years have been a trial, some years feel almost impossible. My grandchildren are all very different people, and they have very different personalities.
That was not totally the problem in the really early years. When you are dealing with infants, they are either asleep or crying. So you work with them and work with them until it is finally right, and after this photo session, you head home to put the baby down for a nap, and take one yourself, because…you have earned it.
As they get older, it’s the fighting that stalls the whole process. This one doesn’t want to sit next to that one, or this one wants to be in the back, not the front, or someone is touching someone else. Oh my gosh, the tragedy of it all. Heaven forbid, having to be somewhere in the picture that you didn’t want to, and if you let them choose, they all want the same place. And all you can think of is next year they will be one year older and it will work better.
Then next year comes around, and you have a whole new set of issues. Makeup is horrible, or is it the hair, they hate what they are wearing, or the inevitable as they become teenagers…they are too tired. So you try letting them pick a few of the poses to break the ice a bit. Sometimes even that doesn’t work well, but sometimes it does, and you end up with a very funny pose, or set of poses.
Ultimately, no matter what the age, with a little persuasion, such as the promise of candy afterward or…maybe bodily harm if they don’t behave, you get a few good poses, and the pictures turn out quite well. And of course, when the pictures are given out, and only the best ones are given out, by the way, everyone just loves them. They all think, “How did you pull that off? Getting them all to smile at the same time.” And of course, you just smile and let them think what they want. You know it was a lot of work, but…it was so worth it. Once again, it is time to start thinking about those pictures…no wonder I have a headache!!
My great grandmother lived next door to my grandparents for all the years I knew her. She was my mother’s dad’s mother, and all of us kids loved her very much. Whenever we were at my grandparent’s house, we would always go over to Little Great Grandma’s house. She would always have cookies for us to eat, and she would sit with us at the table and talk a little. We didn’t go over often, because there was always something going on at my grandparents house…always lots of kids there to play with.
Whenever we got to go over, I loved seeing Little Great Grandma. I don’t know who started calling her that, but I don’t remember ever calling her anything else. When I think about my own grandchildren and all the nicknames they have come up with for me though, my guess is that one of the great grandsons got taller than her, and decided that she was now Little Great Grandma. My grandsons, who are all taller than I am now, are always calling me Little Grandma, so it stands to reason that, since my great grandmother wasn’t a tall woman, she would eventually be given that name.
I used to think it was unique to this generation or my family, since my sister’s grandchildren have those nicknames for her too, but when I got to thinking about my great grandmother, and the nickname we always called her, I think it is something that crosses the generational lines. I suppose my great grandmother would have cringed at some of my nicknames, but as times change, so do the nicknames.
I also think it is a form of endearment. Kids call ’em as they see ’em. My grandchildren used to call me the fingernail grandma (I believe Christopher thought of that one) when they were little and trying to figure out a way to distinguish which grandma they were talking about. I do love to paint my nails and they are always long, so I guess it stands to reason. As the years have gone by, I have been Gma, G (came from Josh, it was easier), Gram, Gramama (definitely from my granddaughter, 
Shai), G-pickle (Caalab, my joker, came up with that one), as well as several others that didn’t have a very long life, and so don’t come quickly to mind.
Endearing nicknames are only given to those we love, and since I know my grandchildren love me very much, I can look at the silly nicknames I have acquired over the years, and know that funny as they are…they are my own, given to me by grandchildren who love me with all their heart, and they show me that every day. I love each and every nickname, almost as much as I love each and every grandchild.
I was born the second of 5 girls, with no brothers. For 3 years it would be just my older sister, Cheryl and me, and I am blessed enough to say, “She loved me!” While there would be years when Cheryl and I would fight like cats and dogs, most of our lives have been lived as good friends. Cheryl loved being the big sister, and I always looked up to her. Somehow, she was always the cool one, with a sense of class and sophistication, and I was…well, not. I was much more shy, and awkward, except when it came to gymnastics. I could do that without trouble, but when it came to being one of the kids that fit in with the crowd, I just really didn’t. I guess I was more of a geek, and these days that is cool, but it wasn’t back then.
As I said, I did well in gymnastics and pretty much anything else like that. When Cheryl and I were little, probably about 3 and 1, I could crawl as fast as many kids could run. Mom has movies of me crawling across the floor, and Cheryl trying to keep up by crawling along beside me, but after quickly losing ground, she would have to get up and run to catch up with me. Then she would try to crawl again and would get behind again. The movies look pretty funny. It was the one place I could beat her I guess.
For most of our lives, it didn’t matter who had the upper hand, except in our teenage years, when it didn’t matter what we did, it always ended up in a fight. I’m quite sure it was because I was smart alecky, but I’m not admitting to anything like that, so don’t quote me on it. I will say that I had the ability to be a little aggravating, and my poor sister, Cheryl had to deal with that a lot.
Nevertheless, as the years have gone by, I have learned the value of such a wonderful sister as mine. When the going gets tough, you can always count on her to be there for you. She possesses a quiet strength and an ability to move past irritations and on to peace. That is a wonderful quality, and one I wish I had. I watch her and how she does things, and I try to run my life like she does. I am not saying that she never gets annoyed, or even downright angry, but she is much quicker to move past that and on to peace than I have been able to do. She is my mentor in so many ways, and a role model that I can always respect. And Cheryl, “I love you too!!”
Little girls love to mimic their moms. They see their mom getting ready for the day, and putting on their makeup, and taking great care with every detail, and they learn that this ritual is something very important. Little girls want to be just like their mom, because they love her and they think she is the most beautiful mom in the whole world. These are moments you wish could last forever…the moments before you become a total embarrassment to your child, as most parents do when their kids reach adolescence. For a time…a short time, you are just exactly what they want to be…until you become old fashioned, that is.
Like most girls, Corrie and Amy loved to play dress up, and makeup was a big part of that. I had to really keep an eye on my makeup or I might just find out that it wasn’t lasting quite as long as it really should. Of course, Corrie, being the oldest, was a little better at getting enough makeup on her face than Amy was, until Amy was a little older, that is. My girls always wanted to do the things I was doing, and not just in the area of makeup. I guess it is part of the whole finding yourself process. Before you can find yourself, you have to try out a few different possibilities.
Sure, as mom’s we look back on those moments as maybe a waste of good makeup, or a mess we had to clean up, but in reality it was so much more than an inconvenience…it was a rite of passage, I suppose. Boys are encouraged to have a rite of passage, so why not girls. It is part of becoming a 
woman, but it certainly can be funny as they try to get it just right. And to ask them, it was perfect.
It is just what little girls are all about. It is in their makeup, pun definitely intended. In a desperate attempt to save my makeup, I finally bought the girls some of their own…the kid variety of course. They used the fake stuff, until they realized that it didn’t show up on their faces, and then we had to get something different. They went around with all sorts of different looks. It didn’t really matter, because girls will be girls, and I have seen some very different looks on bigger girls than mine.
In July of 1976, Bob and I made plans to take a trip to Yakima, Washington to visit his great grandparents. My grandparents wanted to make a trip to Cascade, Idaho to visit some family there. Bob and I decided to take them to Cascade, and another family member was going to pick them up and bring them home when they were ready. My grandfather was 83 years old at the time. He would live 4 more years before he went home to be with the Lord. My grandmother was 67 years old at that time. She would live 12 more years before she went home to be with the Lord.
While he was 83 years old, my grandfather was still pretty sharp, but there were things that worried him some. My mom told me to just do our best to put him at ease if he got nervous about any of the trip. This trip was interesting to say the least. We were in my 1968 Plymouth Fury III, and while it could comfortably seat 4 adults and two children, it was…well, snug. We had a car seat in the center front and a car seat in the center back. I know that you aren’t supposed to have a car seat in front, but there was no such law or requirement in 1976. My grandparents just took it all in stride, and the girls were very good, so while it was a bit tight, it was a wonderful trip.
The trip was going quite smoothly, and we were all enjoying ourselves. My grandparents proved to be very pleasant traveling companions. Most of the trip went uneventfully, but there were several occasions when my grandfather thought we might be on the wrong road. Bob was so kind to him. He would pull over, and get out the map. He would show my grandfather where we were on the map, where we were going, and the road we would take to get there. Grandpa would immediately feel more relaxed, and the trip would continue. This happened several times, but Bob always handled each event with kindness and compassion. Grandpa was also worried at one point about whether or not we needed chains for the tires, but Bob again put his concerns to rest, and our trip turned out beautifully all the way to Cascade, Idaho where we dropped them off and continued on to Yakima, Washington.
About 4 years later, my grandfather was in the hospital…his last time in the hospital before he passed away. Bob and I went up to visit him. It was a pleasant enough visit, under the circumstances, but the thing about that visit that I will never forget is that while my grandfather’s memory was going, and he really thought I was the nurse, he knew exactly who Bob was. They talked about that trip to Cascade, Idaho, and I could tell that while it seemed like such a little thing to Bob to ease my grandfather’s worried mind, it had meant much more to my grandfather. It was an unforgettable act of kindness.
Bob and his dad have always had a close relationship. As the first son, and the only boy for 14 years, Bob and his dad had quite a bit of time for father/son bonding. They did a lot of things together. My father-in-law was a mechanic by trade before he retired, and he handed down many valuable skills to Bob. But while there was always work to be done around the place they lived, my father-in-law still made time for having a little fun with his kids.
For a number of years, my father in law worked at jobs that caused him to be out of town a lot, so the times he was in town were precious to him. He wanted to connect with his kids…all of them. He is first and foremost a family man, and they are his number one priority. That is a quality he instilled in my husband, his son, Bob.
Those were times when meals were eaten around the table at night, and everyone talked about the events of the day. The kids were home for dinner most nights, and life really was a little bit like the old television shows, except with his job, my father-in-law had to miss many of those nights. It was something that tore him up inside, especially when his kids were little and didn’t know who he was when he came home. He couldn’t do that, so he quite the jobs that put him out of town, and worked nearer to home. He and his family never regretted that decision.
Bob and his dad still have a very close relationship…one to be cherished. At 82 years old, his dad is not as strong as he once was, but he is still very much a sweet, loving man. The relationship I see between them today warms my heart. My father-in-law has always had a wonderful sense of humor. Through our 36 years of marriage, I have been able to enjoy the many moments filled with laughter in my in-laws home…and they are moments I will treasure forever.
Kids are so full of life. They haven’t lived long enough to become jaded or weary, so they still feel excitement over the simple things, like a camping or fishing trip. Josh and his whole family love to go camping in the mountains, and fishing at the lake. The boys get really excited about fishing. They compete for the most catches…and just about everything else. The funny thing is that their competitions are usually friendly, not angry…thankfully.
But competition aside, what impresses me the most with kids is that they don’t look at life the way we do. They have so many hopes and dreams for the future. Nothing seems impossible to them. Optimism…that is what it is…that and wonder. They are still in wonder of what the world is all about, and most of it is exciting to them. Especially the littlest ones. It is all so new.
Even the teenagers though, feel excitement about what life is about to show them around the very next corner. And when they are doing their favorite things, all kids have a tendency to just simply get high on life. So when it comes to camping or fishing, swimming or sports, they have a way of getting so excited that they jump for joy.
Why can’t we adults keep that childlike wonder? As adults, we seem to allow ourselves to get…tired maybe, but mostly we just lose that sense of wonder…that wide eyed wonder that looks at the world and says…”Wow, look at that.” It’s that feeling that there is something new and exciting left in the world.
Josh is one of those kids who still has that sense of wonder. He still sees things as exciting and fun. Like leaping off of a rock into the air…just because it looked like it might be fun. When was the last time any of us took a moment to look around us to see if their might be something that would fill us with wonder, and get us high on life?
When kids are little, the things they see as important are the things the adults around them are doing. It may be something that we don’t even realize would stand out to them, but if it is something they don’t have or get to do, them it feels to them like it must be a grown up thing, and therefore important. In fact, some of the things we adults dislike the most, seem the most important to the kids, like glasses.
I remember when I was a kid, glasses seemed like the coolest thing out there, but once I had to wear them, I sure felt differently. They weren’t nearly as much fun as it seemed to me that other people had wearing them. I suppose it must have been that I would see people laughing and notice the glasses, and so it just seemed to go hand in hand.
Of course, sometimes, as I believe was the case in this picture of my brother-in-law, Ron, someone puts the glasses on just to see how funny it looks. I don’t know whose glasses these were, but I’m pretty sure they belonged to a woman. Not that it really matters, because even if they had been men’s glasses, they still would have been huge on Ron’s little 2 or 3 year old face. No, it is my guess that the adults around Ron decided to see how funny he would look in the big glasses, and once they saw it, they took a picture so they could re-live that funny moment.
Yes, kids might think that certain things are very cool because they are an adult thing, but quite often it is the adults who get the biggest kick out of the outlandish results. And, as long as their are kids, there will be outlandish antics and looks as they strive to mimic the adults in their world, because kids are very interested in being all grown up…after all, to them, it is a grown up thing.
As I was sitting in church, waiting for the service to start, my oldest grandson arrived and sat next to me. I was struck by just how tall and muscular he has grown. At 15 Chris plays football, and lifts weights to make himself a more formidable opponent when he is playing his favorite of the positions he plays…defensive end. Chris loves to take down the opposing team’s quarterback. But while I am very proud of his football abilities, that is really not what my story is about. My story is about feeling very small…not Chris…me.
It seems like only yesterday that Christopher was born. We called him Christopher then, but no longer. He is getting so close to manhood, that Christopher really doesn’t fit anymore. He has been Chris for some time now, and I have gotten used to that, even though I still slip sometimes and call him Christopher. It’s like that was his little boy name, and it is too small for him now. It’s possible that later on, that name might be the one he prefers again…only time will tell, but I really doubt it. No, I think those little boy days are gone forever, only to return when he has a son with a name that can be shortened as he grows up. It’s not like I feel that I missed something in his life, because I have had the great privilege of being there for all the major events so far. It’s just that lump in the throat feeling you get when you realize that time will not stand still, and children grow up and become adults and start their own lives. It’s that feeling that things will never be the same again. And for a moment in time, you would love to slow things down, but then you realize that with that passage of time, comes the promise of the future generations that will come out of these children, now almost 
adults, and you realize that it will all be ok. The future is bright, and there will be new generations to get to know and watch grow into adulthood too.
It isn’t his name that made me feel different today, however, it was his size. When did he get to be so tall and muscular? I have spent lots of time around him. When he was younger I saw him almost every day, and now I see him at least twice a week, so why is it so shocking to see how big he is? I don’t really have the answers to these questions, I just know that it seems like he grew over night, and that while I have always known that I am not tall…suddenly next to my grandson, I am feeling very small.
