My World in Word Pictures

I am ashamed to say that I took nary a picture of my grandchildren while they were visiting over Valentine's Day weekend. (I'd steal some from their mom, as usual, but I don't think she took too many either.)

In fact, the entire weekend flew by in a blur of activity that went largely undocumented, but I find that the memories are just as sweet without a photo to back them up. Maybe I can create a few word pictures for posterity:

15-month-old Bryce strutting down the long hallway to the kitchen; head, neck, and vision almost completely obscured by his latest choice of hat from Grandpa's wooden rack. He beams out from under his chapeau, simultaneously tapping his head (ASL sign for "hat") and voicing the word he hasn't quite mastered, " 'at, " 'at."

Not to forget the intense look of concentration and fierce determination on his face as he skateboards (yes, skateboards!) down our driveway...

4-year-old Carli wearing a mysterious, "Secret Garden" smile as she studiously transforms a motley collection of small knickknacks borrowed from various areas of the house into a parade of treasures nestled along a bright white window sill in the living room.

Later, her eyes flash with mischief as she tries to convince me that yes, nibbling the frosting from two chocolate doughnuts and inhaling the whipped cream from a cup of cocoa really does a good breakfast make.

7-year-old Jeremiah patiently prompting, "No, Bryce; be gentle," as our favorite toddler digs sharp-edged fingernails into the sensitive skin of his face, then smiling with pure delight as Bryce changes tactics and smacks him on the cheek with a spontaneous kiss of affection.  

Not long after, this benevolent big brother becomes a raving rock star in the back seat of our Pilot, shouting out the first line to "I Believe I Can Fly" before free-styling his own home-grown lyrics, laced with that special brand of slightly off-color humor second-grade boys like best. 

Now imagine all three of them charging out the front door each day in varying states of dress...letting neither rain, nor sleet, [nor mud], nor dark of early morning stop them from their appointed round of visits to the magic tree, returning with three sets of wide blue eyes filled with wonder, innocence, and a smidgen of good, old-fashioned greed. (By the way, have you heard that the door to the magic tree now has two smallish, rough-hewn chairs placed beside it...separated by one even-tinier pine one?) Curious and curiouser.

I may not be able to post these and other pictures, but don't worry. They've been carefully sorted and stored in the safe, dark memory box of a doting grandma's mind. 

(Safe as long as doting doesn't devolve into doddering, that is!)