Moments I Want to Remember: September
It is evening. The sun is setting earlier these days. All five of us are laying on our bed listening to Marco read The Lorax. The boys are cuddled up on either side of me. I refuse to believe that one day they will be taller than I am. Life on other planets is possible. But not that. I think I am enjoying the moment, but I may be too busy trying to figure out a way to bottle this feeling so I can uncork it a dozen years from now when all of my children are teenagers.
Later that night, an hour after we've tucked the kids into their beds I listen at the boy's door. They are murmuring to each other in soft voices, quoting from the book. "A shell of a great, great, great, great, grandfather snail," says Milo. "Do you have a super ax hacker?" asks Huck.
Milo is climbing on the back of one of the kitchen chairs. "Do you know why I'm climbing up here?" he asks.
"No. Why?"
"To drive you crazy," he says.
My grandfather is mostly deaf and hates to use the telephone. It takes adjusting for our family who communicates our every move via cell phone. "I'm just calling to let you know I'm on my way." "I'm just calling to let you know I'm halfway there." "I'm just calling to let you know I'm in the driveway."
Grandpa used to stop by our house at least once a week. He'd show up unannounced, sit down in the same chair, drink a glass of water, play with the kids and talk to us. After about 15 minutes he would always say, "Well, I've taken enough of your time." Then he'd leave. It was a special treat for the kids. Absolutely no one gives better undivided attention than Great Grandpa. And even though all three kids can talk now, so much of their communication is made up of movement, so he can often understand the kids better than he can understand anyone else.
A few weeks ago Grandpa sold his car. We're not quite sure why, especially since on our last visit to his apartment the first thing he said when we came in was, "I miss my car." I wish I could convince him that we're sorry that he can't stop by whenever he wants anymore, but that we like coming to visit him, that it's not a chore. But even if I could find the words to explain how important he is to us, he probably wouldn't be able to hear me.
When we arrive tonight Grandpa is sitting in his chair watching football and drinking a highball. His bottom teeth are on the side table next to him. The kids play for a while and then Huck walks over and picks up the teeth.
"What are these?" he asks.
Without missing a beat, Grandpa takes them from Huck's hand and puts them back in his mouth and smiles. "They're called false teeth," he says. Marco and I watch as all three kids stare at him in complete disbelief. He just laughs and laughs. And then they laugh.














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