Matthew will be five tomorrow. He was born on a Monday, and his birthday falls on Monday again this year.
He is such a great little guy. He loves being read to, playing with K'Nex & Legos & Duplos, and playing games like Uno & Trouble. In the summer he is a superb insect & amphibian wrangler. Much to our surprise, he even caught a live bird bare-handed last fall.
It's been amazing to see him grow from a tiny baby, through toddler-hood, and on to being a polite, thoughtful, creative, imaginative, precocious little boy.
I am so proud of him and I love him dearly.
It was five years ago this coming Saturday that my Grandmother passed away unexpectedly. She died the same day that pictures of Matthew arrived in the mail. She never saw them. Grandma was the story teller in my extended family. She loved telling stories about her life. When I was very young I loved her stories. When I was a teen-ager the stories became un-cool and repetitive. By the time I began to appreciate them again, she was starting to forget them. What can I tell you about her? She had a horse named Beauty, she loved to dance when she was young, she won poetry contests in high school, the first time she kissed my grandfather all the lights in town turned off, her father beat her mercilessly, she carried herself with a sort of regal elegance, she loved Lucille Ball, she wore high heels very late into life, she was always cold, she loved to laugh, she liked word games, she was the quintessential pastor's wife and she loved her husband dearly. I miss her. Matthew and Jeannie stayed home, and didn't attend the funeral. Neither of them was in any shape to travel and I didn't want to risk either of them with the trip. I gave the eulogy and her body was committed to the cold, sandy soil of the cemetery outside of town, where so many other family members are buried. Matthew appears to have inherited her story-telling gene.
It was five years ago this coming Saturday that my Grandmother passed away unexpectedly. She died the same day that pictures of Matthew arrived in the mail. She never saw them. Grandma was the story teller in my extended family. She loved telling stories about her life. When I was very young I loved her stories. When I was a teen-ager the stories became un-cool and repetitive. By the time I began to appreciate them again, she was starting to forget them. What can I tell you about her? She had a horse named Beauty, she loved to dance when she was young, she won poetry contests in high school, the first time she kissed my grandfather all the lights in town turned off, her father beat her mercilessly, she carried herself with a sort of regal elegance, she loved Lucille Ball, she wore high heels very late into life, she was always cold, she loved to laugh, she liked word games, she was the quintessential pastor's wife and she loved her husband dearly. I miss her. Matthew and Jeannie stayed home, and didn't attend the funeral. Neither of them was in any shape to travel and I didn't want to risk either of them with the trip. I gave the eulogy and her body was committed to the cold, sandy soil of the cemetery outside of town, where so many other family members are buried. Matthew appears to have inherited her story-telling gene.
