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 grandchild’s birth would be big enough to commit to memory…
“Happy Homecoming to Search!” I announced to GrammaJ this morning (before the flower confusion).
“I’ve always said I think of homecoming as their birthday,” my mother retorted.
This afternoon GrampaStavo received a phone call at work – Lee was calling, and it was personal.
“Mr. 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?” 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 won’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 couldn’t resist cooing about how tiny the little ones were. It’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.)