Yup, more about the Grandkids.

A note to our readers:

Sorry, but the attention to FindingOurWay has been seriously diverted. We’re spending as much time as we can with the Grandkids and much less touring. We’ve been here over a week and a half and have yet to venture into San Francisco. We’re trading Cable Car time for Skye and Quinn time and getting a bit or rest. We hope you like kid pics!

As we stroll up the walk with Noah to the house, Skye dashes to greet her Dad, with soft golden hair and intelligent brown eyes above a sweet smile which has a surprising number of teeth. (Did our boys have that many teeth at that age?) The age is 28 months: the age when there are good days and not quite so good days, when the phrase, ‘terrible twos’ almost fulfills its cliché.

It’s hard to grow so quickly, develop so much new dexterity, balance, and verbal skills. The grown-up language still has so many incomprehensibles in it and the little mind’s expectations so far outstrip the body’s maturity. Also, the center of the universe of self has had to shift slightly to accommodate a dear little brother, now 8 months, who has needs for time, space, and attention too.

Through it all, Skye is a strong little alpha girl who will overcome the frustrations of the twos and enjoy increasing mastery over her world. The sunny nature will prevail and the sudden storms and squalls will become rare. Already the alphabet has no hurdles, counting is ticking along well, and her imagination is a glorious immersion into the vast world of mind, spirit, and yes, sharing.

Those brown eyes, when caught up in imagination and pretend, are the deepest invitation of love-and-come-follow-me. At other times, the histrionics are so diva-like, so over-the-top, that it’s very hard to keep a straight face, until I remember what’s driving it, and understand that it’s simply hard to be somewhere between two and three.

Baby Quinn is still in the Buddha-like stage of finding everything fairly delightful and basically edible. He laughs and drools, and croons approval at his sock or his fist or his felt-sense of physics, where the same heavy, beautiful head that successfully led him down the birth canal can now lead him over the stool, or the edge of the bathtub, with the nerve-wracking (to us) certainty that he will be caught. And when he does manage to bump his downy crown into something, he’s easily distracted from the upset, because the world is too exciting place to waste time being unhappy.

This has been our personal landscape for the week: getting to know our grandkids and giving them a chance to get to know us. We are also painfully aware of why nature rarely brings babies to new parents who are over sixty. Little people are high energy and we are, well, not so much as we once were. We’re belatedly getting into training for this, but even Sprocket is tired. But it’s such a good tired! We love it. Each time we approach their street, Sprocket begins to yip and yodel with excitement and we laugh at his puppy opera, but he’s really expressing what Bruce and I feel too. And then, there she is, by the door, and Cara is holding Quinn, and our hearts are home.

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