Bekka always stepped out of a fashion plate when she arrived. Mothers take enormous pride in the appearance of first babies, as they should.
Fortunately, Shelly understood kids come to grandma’s house to get dirty. It’s where they start eating that peck of dirt. No matter how many clothes are in the suitcase, they run through all and wind up in whatever works. Wearing Uncle Tom’s rubber gloves for duck feet works, too.
Hamilton, my first grandson. He’s fifteen and taller than all of us now. I expect he’ll top out close to his great-grandpa Lytle. Here he is, back up that ramp almost as fast as he came down. I laughed until the tears ran. He looked just like Olive Oyl’s nephew, Sweet Pea.
Earlier that spring his parents were picking him up from a stay. Mom was so ill at the time, asleep in her room. Ham was screaming in the living room. I went in to mom to see if she was disturbed. She looked at me and smiled and said, “How sweet that crying baby sounds.”
2002 and 2003 were crowded; we had Bekka, Ham and Emily living here. There wasn’t room in our little house for a Christmas tree, too. For Tom there is no Christmas without a tree, so he set it up on the porch. Em, watching for Santa.
Laura, Shelly’s youngest. Shelly and Laura lived in Lake County those couple of years, while Shelly took her nursing degree. Laura was an especially fussy baby. Until shut in the sleep suit. Shelly would start gathering up to go and Laura would wind up her disapproval. Get the suit, get the suit. Phew.