There are seven grandkids now, and for the first time in the history of our epic annual family get-together, the grownups are outnumbered.
We can’t help ourselves as we sit and watch them play, or feed the babies, or kiss owies, or break up fights, or cut up hot dogs into perfect little chunks– we simply must point out the similarities and the differences.
We are amazed at how all these children from the same family are all so incredibly different. We marvel at the shape of their faces, the length of their toes, the sound of their little voices.
We laugh as they speak their minds, so simple and innocent and naive. We hug and kiss and tickle and cuddle and we remember when there were only two babies here and we thought it was so busy and so crazy.
Seven grandchildren– two six-year-olds, one five-year-old, one four-year-old, one three-year-old, and two babies. That’s eight lost teeth. Thirty piggy toes in need of painting. Fourteen hands to be held. Three pairs of glasses. Endless hugs and “I love you”s and opportunities for arguments.
And always, always someone there when you just need a little person to snuggle or keep your lap occupied.
Our little family of four has grown over the last nine years to a family of thirteen. We are our own three-ring circus, our own choir, our own traveling band.