Grandpa Don

Yesterday was Cinco de Mayo. It was also my Grandpa Don’s birthday. He’s been gone for years now, but I still think about him all the time. I thought in honor of his birthday, I’d share one of my favorite Grandpa Don memories.

Back when Matt and I were first married, we lived in a tiny 800 square foot duplex in the outlaw biker/burned-out hippie community of Laporte, CO. To be honest, the place was a dump. The kitchen floor was built from peeling old stick-on tiles, the carpet was a million years old, the ancient kitchen appliances were all avocado green, and the front door was a recycled hollow-core door from an interior closet that had a huge hole in the bottom where the dogs had almost scratched through to freedom.

We didn’t have much money then, and we scraped by as best as we could. The guest bed was an old futon. We picked up the living room couches and chairs second-hand from an old fleabag motel that was going out of business. Most everything else we owned were mismatched hand-me-downs.

We had happy times in that house, though. It was the first house Matt and I ever lived in together. We were young and in love. The house was quiet, private, and all ours. The location was right on the edge of a horse pasture, so we could sit in the backyard and pet the horses. Plus, the rent was $300 a month, which really seems like an unbelievably miniscule amount of money nowadays.

Anyhow, one super chilly March Grandpa Don came out to visit us with dad and Olga. I had worked for an entire week in advance of their visit, scrubbing everything in the house down so that it would look as nice as possible. I scrubbed the walls, the floors, the bathrooms, vacuumed the carpets, and cleaned inside the cabinets and underneath the couches. It seemed like a pretty futile exercise, though. It didn’t matter how clean the place was. It never showed. The place was worn-in, run down in a way that could never really be made new again. (Without demolition.)

I was excited for my family to visit, but worried how everyone would react. When they all arrived and came through the door, I was nervous. I didn't know how they would respond to the old house, the old furniture, the old... everything. I didn't want to disapoint them. I felt pretty sure that I would.

When Grandpa Don came in, he walked around the house, surveying all the rooms. He looked everything over closely, smiling and nodding as we gave him the Grand Tour. When the tour was done, he sat down in one of the ratty old red velvet motel chairs in the living room and quietly looked around, as if he was taking it all in. When he had surveyed the entire room, he turned to me with a tear in his eye. With complete sincerity he took my hand and said, “I’m so proud of you, honey. You’re doing so well for yourself. This is a wonderful home.”

He was totally genuine, and in his eyes I could see that he really was proud. I didn’t need to worry about how fancy my furniture was, or how run-down my rental house was. He knew I was happy, that I had made a loving home for myself, and he was proud of me.

I’ll never forget that.

Thank you, grandpa. I miss you.

Happy Cinco de Mayo!

This evening, I took Frankie to her school's annual Cinco de Mayo celebration. They served nachos and tamales, had tons of Mexico-themed craft activities, a live band, folk dancing, and... break dancing. (Not sure why the break dancing? Seemed a little thematically tenuous to me.)

The tamale brought back a super vivid memory. The first time I ever ate a tamale was at Taste of Chicago waaaay back when I was still in high school. I went with a bunch of friends, and we weren't exactly worldly. When I ordered the tamale, I just bit right into it. Husk and all. Of course, it tasted terrible, and I imediately threw it away in a bee-swarmed trash can. I didn't even realize until years later that I was supposed to take the husk off before eating it. No wonder it was so terrible. Duh.

Anyhow, the Cinco de Mayo celebration was really fun for Frankie. I'm glad I took her, but it was definitely one of those things that you do for your kid, not yourself. It was super crowded, and I'm not exactly a fan of wall-to-wall bodies. All of the chairs were taken, and there was barely anywhere to stand. The band was great, but they were so loud that it was impossible to talk to anyone without getting inches away from their face. It was pretty clear from looking around the room that most of the parents were having the same thought as me: This is fun, but when can I make my escape?

Seafood Date

I couldn't resist Frankie's request for mussels. I love encouraging her to eat weird foods, so after school yesterday Uncle Mark and I took her out for seafood. We got a dozen oysters and a pot of mussels. I thought I was going to be able to persuade her to try one of the oysters, but no luck. We got close, though. She thought the shells were awesome, and really wanted to take one home with her. Once she got up close to the oyster itself, she deemed it "too grown up" for her. She kindly requested that we bring her back when she was a teenager, and she would try again. Maybe. (No leagally-binding promises were made.)

The mussels, though, were a hit. Frankie even treated us to a castanet performance using the little black shells.

When we were all finished up, we all went for a walk around Old Town. All through Old Town, Fort Collins has strategically placed pianos in public spaces, encouraging people to stop and play as they pass by. Frankie took a turn at the keyboard, doing a little afternoon improv.

It was a great afternoon. And Frankie should have tried the oysters. They were delicious!

Weirdo

It's eight in the morning, and Frankie is dancing around the kitchen singing a song about how much she wants mussels for dinner.

I want mussels so much
they're my favorite dish
I love them so much
They are my favorite things
My wish is to have just a squinch of mussels...
I.. Just... Love.. Mussels!
I wish I had a mussel tree on me

Easter Sunday

Monster eggs.... Rawr!!

 One of the reasons that Matt and I were drawn to our new house was that it was a place where we could really visualize hosting holiday get-togethers, and having people over . Easter Sunday marked the first time Matt and I have ever hosted a big family dinner.

I actually had a great time being the host. We had a big crowd: Jim, Jo, Bob, Mary, Toni, Erin, Mike, and Lisa all came over for the spread, which included all of the traditional favorites like honey-glazed ham, green bean cassserole, sweet potatoes, scalloped potatoes, and so forth. I hope that everyone else had as good of a time as I did. It was so lovely to have a home that was big enough to fit everyone. Now, I just have to work on getting enough matching placemats and silverware for everyone.

Still disputed are the results of our annual deviled egg contest. Mike, Jim, Matt, and I all created mini-batches of deviled eggs according to our own secret recipies. Mike actually brought over a whole stash of fancy ingredients: whole nutmeg with a teeny tiny grater, 10-year-old balsamic vinegar, and various weird and delicious spices. I have to confess that his eggs were pretty fab. But so were Matt's and Jim's. I'm hard pressed to choose who won the prize this year. All I know is that I ate so many deviled eggs that I'm pretty much taste averted to them until next Easter. Cool Hand Luke was right. There is *definitely* a limit to the number of eggs a person should eat in one sitting.

Slimey's Bad Day

Just had to share the book Frankie wrote this week as an eulogy to her friend, Slimey the Worm. Slimey is a worm that Frankie spotted on the pavement by the school playground on a Monday morning. By Tuesday morning, Slimey had sadly met his demise, morphing into a sad, dried-up husk on the asphalt.

Considering the fact that Frankie knew Slimey for less than 24 hours, she took his death pretty hard. The overblown sadness of the story is pretty much the cutest thing ever. (And, hilariously, this book conveys WAY more emotion than she expressed when Roscoe died.)

Slimey's Bad Day.

Slimey died yesterday. It made me sad.

 He was very great. After school, I made a graveyard for him. (True! She did, complete with tiny wooden grave marker. I also love the picture on the fist page that depicts Slimey as a dried-up black husk.)

I wish that I could make him come back to life

so that me and Penelope and Cadence could watch him squirm around again.

I really liked him. He was the best worm ever. (Note the picture, which is a ribbon that ways "#1 Worm.")

Goodbye, Slimey!

Frankie is officially the Queen of Melodrama.

Kentucky Cuties

These are a few of my favorite pictures from our Kentucky trip. Aren't these guys adorable?

Lottie, Dallas, and Frankie got along amazingly well during our five-day visit. It was so great being able to watch them play together, laugh together, and walk down the street holding hands. It made me wish that we all could live next door to each other, so those guys could play together every day. (Of course, I'd love to be able to play with K.C. every day, too.)

The Lexington trip was a lot of fun for the grown-ups, too. We went to the park, took a trip to the Cinicnatti Children's Museum, had a "mom's day" of shopping while Trevor watched the kids, and K.C., Trevor, and I even got a chance to go out to dinner together while their babysitter Nicole watched the kids one night. Everything in Kentucky was so lush and green, and the weather was absolutely beautiful. I definitely would love to make the trip a yearly event. Frankie talks about Lottie and Dallas pretty much every day, so I know she'd be game to go back... Like, tomorrow.