My first reaction was to question my parents aging sanity. I have long since figured out that there is a celestial effect on the frontal lobe of a parent the moment they become a grandparent. But I thought the date of said grandchildâ€™s birth would be big enough to commit to memoryâ€¦
â€œHappy Homecoming to Search!â€ I announced to GrammaJ this morning (before the flower confusion).
â€œIâ€™ve always said I think of homecoming as their birthday,â€ my mother retorted.
This afternoon GrampaStavo received a phone call at work â€“ Lee was calling, and it was personal.
â€œMr. Gustavo. I have here in my records that it was a year ago that we sent flowers welcoming home your twins! Should we send another arrangement today?â€ Well how about that? The muppets are famous throughout Santa Clara! (Lee is the local florist my dad always uses for a fragrant commemoration of special events, but I wonâ€™t discount the possibility the shop reads this blog.)
Homecoming was the first time any of the grandparents met their new pride and joys. With my vast 14 months experience as a parent, I can only imagine how difficult it must have been for our parents to remain sidelined, merely watching their own children from the sidelines.
When we brought the muppets home at a hefty 6lbs 6oz, Jon and I thought they were huge. But our parents couldnâ€™t resist cooing about how tiny the little ones were. Itâ€™s all about perspective. Today, one of those tiny bundles of joy spent the evening canvasing the living room while the other rocked out, singing along to 90s alt-rock.
The flowers are beautiful. Homecoming is happy. It is not the muppets birthday (even if you think it should be.)