Baby Love

When Emma was about 8 months old, the NY clan came out to Michigan for a visit. Instead of staying in a hotel, Pam stayed in the guest bedroom (we called it the Bed and Breakfast) so she could spend the mornings and evenings with us. In retrospect, I should have briefed her on the night-time rituals, but I was pretty sure that she would not wake up to Emma's cries. After all, she managed to sleep through doggies barking and jumping on the bed every day at home!

So when Emma started screaming shortly after midnight, I laid in bed for awhile, waiting her out...that was the plan. I would go in every few minutes to reassure her but I would not pick her up. We were trying desperately to get her to comfort herself, to fall back to sleep without needing us. But when Emma's cries stopped abruptly without any help from me, I was worried. I got out of bed and went quietly to her room. There I found my sister, holding Emma and bouncing her gently.

I think I said something like, "Uh! Why did you pick her up?" "She was reaching for me," Pam said. "She was saying, up, up." I remember that the next day, Pam apologized for messing up our plan. But I guess I hope that maybe somewhere in Emma's little head she has a memory of Angel Pammie coming to rescue her when she was sad. She did that for so many of us, didn't she?

Remember the time...

A few weeks ago, I was talking to some friends about the types of stories that become family legend...you know, the ones that people drag up every once in a while at a holiday gathering, and everyone nods and laughs? Well, I know I missed the fourth by a few days, but this one just popped into my mind this morning...

We used to spend every July 4th with the Oswalds, or dear next door neighbors. There was usually a picnic with shish-ke-bob, coleslaw, games, and sparklers. One year, after Pam was married and Chris was a baby, there was quite a large crowd in the Oswald's back yard. Dad and Mr. O had gotten their hands on some bottle rockets, and were getting kind of rowdy (I don't remember exactly, but I'm sure there were either Heinekens or Shaffers involved). They decided that the best way to stay "safe" was to shoot of the bottle rockets from bottles they were HOLDING IN THEIR HANDS. I guess the premise was that they could make sure the rocket was pointed in the right direction.

So, I'm not sure what went wrong, but one of the rockets took a funny turn and came back towards the buffet table. Everyone dove for cover, and the rocket landed safely in the middle of Pam's pudding cake...and exploded! Vanilla pudding flew everywhere, including onto baby Chris, who was in a playpen a few feet away. I can't remember who was laughing and who was crying, but I do know that the fathers got scolded and the cake was thrown away.

I'd like to think that Dad, Pam and Mr. O were all together this 4th of July, carrying on the tradition...good times, family and friends, and love of life.