The post where I tell my kids something about their great-grandparents

Lucy was watching Little Bear on Nick Jr. while I was eating lunch earlier.  It was the episode where Little Bear goes camping with Grandfather Bear.  It got dark and they started hearing night noises that made Little Bear nervous.  When finally they heard an owl screech, Grandfather Bear told Little Bear to clap three times and whistle and he would feel better.

A little smile came to my face.  It made me think of Man.  Man was my mom's dad.  And, clearly when you call your grandfather Man, you call your grandmother Lady.  Lady and Man lived in Mississippi, and every year we headed east from Fort Worth to the muggy, beautiful Mississippi Delta.  One of my favorite memories of Man is when he took us blueberry picking.  It was so hot in those fields in the summer time--like, sweat-dripping-off-the-tip-of-your-nose-in-the-shadeless-blueberry-fields hot.  I've still never seen so many mirages as I did on those two-lane country roads.  Man taught us all about mirages.  And every time we drove under a bridge with a moving train on top, he would honk his horn and we would all clap our hands.  I don't even remember why we did it, but it sure made us smile.

Lady was just that.  A lady.  She almost always wore a dress.  She ate half a grapefruit every morning for breakfast, and she loved Toy Poodles.  Lady and Man's house was built around the turn of the 20th century, and I loved to explore that house on my visits.  I pretended to be a spy, and tried my very hardest not to make the stairs creak on my way down.  Once I used Lady's mailing stamps in my artwork.  She wasn't too happy about that, but was patient and kind anyway.  I think every one of my kids has done that at some point, and I think of Lady every time.  Thomas and Anna got to meet Lady when they were wee ones, and I'm so grateful for those memories.

Mamaw and Papa lived in Fort Worth, so naturally we saw my dad's parents more.  Mamaw came to every single Grandparent's Lunch at my elementary school.  I would tirelessly brag every year to my friends and teachers about what a young grandmother I had.  Like it was some competition--Whose grandma is the youngest?  She was only 39 when I was born.  (She was a child of 16 when my dad was born, and he, in turn, was a mere 23 when I was born.)  Of course, young grandparents means your children are blessed with great-grandparents that are active and healthy. 

My sisters and I spent the night at Mamaw and Papa's house fairly often.  Mamaw is one of the best cooks I know.  She would cook vegetables right out of Papa's garden every summer.  Papa loved his garden and his Martin birdhouses.  He was still working for the Post Office when we were little, and we would "hide" every time he came home from work.  He was always so "surprised" to see us.  And although Papa scared me during a Parr home movie with his best J.R. Ewing impression when I was 4, I quickly learned that he is one of the gentlest, kindest human beings I know. 

I just recently got all my blogs printed as a gift from Jeremy.  And I think what a gift this blog truly is to my children.  Their childhood is preserved, and I can only hope and pray that they love their story as they age.  Their story.  Our story.  And here is part of my story for them.