It's true - I do happen to be one of the luckiest people on the planet. I am lucky enough to have not only great little men underfoot, a spectacular husband by my side, a great dad, and a perfect pair of Grandpas. My little boys are privileged to have the genes and examples of great, great men.
Recently, I was privileged enough that my Grandpa could pull himself away from the fun, daily, wild parties happening at his retirement home to come play with me and my family for a few days. We went to visit Yale, Milford, the beach, and learned a little about the history of our family members who settled the area. I love when I discover something new about someone I love. Turns out my Grandpa makes a mean paper airplane. My kids have been playing with them daily for over a week and they have held up pretty good.
We even sent Great Grandpa home with something more than memories of spit up, temper tantrums, and the joys of juggling 3 kids: his very own cold. Sorry about that Grandpa!
I usually write about little people on this blog, so it's nice for a change to turn my attention to the other generation in my life. I am really lucky that I have been given the gift of knowing my grandparents well. My Grandma and Grandpa Miles lived in Chicago for years, and moved to Utah when I was about 10. But I really feel like my strongest memories of all my Grandparents were formed while I was in my college years.
My Grandpa and Grandma Miles moved to Provo, UT where Brigham Young University is located. They offered to let my brother, Jonathan, and I (our cousins too) pop in and do our laundry on Saturdays. A tradition that started me coming over every Saturday, whether I had laundry or not. I loved to sit and chat for hours with them, giggle as my Grandma showed off her mad channel flipping skills, and Grandpa entertained me with stories of golf. We would sit in the backyard with Grandma hugging her Super soaker waiting for the Stalker cat to pop out of the bushes. Grandpa would excitedly show me his garden as soon as Spring rolled around and we would walk the perimeter, talking about the different types of flowers he was planting. A puzzle always seemed to be in the works on the dining room table, and I would smile as Grandpa and Grandma grumbled at each other, then snuck in a kiss when they thought I wasn't looking.
My Grandma was quick to shush my Grandpa's golf tales, but the minute we were alone in the car he had such great stories to tell. We would chat and catch up. I learned about his years growing up in Price, Utah, serving in the army, and trying to figure out what career best suited him in college. When Grandma died after a long and difficult battle with cancer I felt like I needed Grandpa as much as he needed me and was grateful that he chose to remain in Provo as long as he did.
Two years ago we were able to visit him in his Provo home as he prepared to put it on the market. As I walked through that house full of so many memories I tried to soak up as much as I could. The freezer full of freezer meals in the basement, the sticky spider traps that always creeped me out hiding in the basement, the built in shelves that were always full of books and toys, the rainbow room, the treadmill I once fell off of and still bare the scars on my back from that accident, the basement room with the rainbow wallpaper where I sat up late giggling with my cousin Natalie before our old folk's bus trip, the carpeted bathroom where Grandma once held up the toilet with a stack of pennies, the cabinet where we all tried to see who could squish in (go Aunt Maurine!), the couches where I would sit in the living room and Grandpa would bring me different paper weights to examine as Grandma's thumbs would rub the back of my hands, the stack of National Enquirers always sitting by the front door, the big leather chair in the corner that my Aunt Marcia always sat in, the heavy goose we would dress up, the candy drawer (3rd down) in the kitchen, the laundry room bathroom with just about the coolest wallpaper on the planet, the spot where I once fainted in the hallway and my dad and I spent part of Jonathan's graduation in the ER, sitting at the kitchen table as Grandma giggled and discussed over and over how cute Jenessa said the word "purple", the cabinet full of dollar store toys across from the washer/dryer, the smell of Grandma and Grandpa together that still lingered in the air, the folded dishtowel always next to the kitchen sink, the spot of Grandma's bed where the grandkids would curl up during conference, Grandpa's hat on the shelf in the bathroom for when he went to work in the yard, the bin in the garage that held the hundreds of cans of "Mother's Milk" (diet Pepsi) that Grandma was so fond of, the stack of mini stamp puzzles waiting to be sent out, the glow in the dark tape around the corners of the house so Grandma could pace in the dark when her lung scars were bothering her, the hidden key in the back of the house under the silver ball, and the picture of Grandpa and Grandma from their missionary time that hung in the kitchen.
The memories of this house were overwhelming, and while I was sad that Grandpa was saying goodbye, I was equally excited to see him looking at new opportunities to grow. I love that he is in a place now where he is surrounded by new friends, great food, and new memories. Heaven knows that this man deserves the best of the best. There are few men that I look at with as much admiration as I do him. He is one of my heroes, and I am lucky to call him mine.
I love you dear Grandpa! You are and always will be on of my favorite people in the world! Thank you for taking the time and energy to come and visit us. To give us new memories and reasons to smile!
