One of the Monkeys

Compared to yesterday, it is a cool morning with foggy grey skies and lows in the forties. I’m sitting here in the outfit I worn yesterday a long sleeve t-shirt and shorts. But yesterday afternoon it was in the mid eighties and quite warm for late November. But with the promise that it’s going to be as hot as yesterday, I think I’ll just stay in my shorts even though it’s a little chill right now. So I went to the room and slipped me on a sweater.

My oldest daughter and her family just touched down in England last night early morning there. To spend the next several days with her husband’s family back home. This is only the second time his parents have seen their first grandbaby in the two and a half years since her birth. I remember quite well the sensation and fear of that first grandchild. When our second daughter gave birth to her first several years ago. It also brings back the memories of when our oldest was the first grandchild herself. And the almost celebrity like status that carried for her for at least 18 months.
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But that was over 35 years ago and with the birth of three other kids, two son-in-laws, three grandkids, and six grand dogs and cats. Life is kinda full circle. But I feel for my counter parts across the pond, not being able to hope in their car to see their grandchild. But pretty sure I’m sure their other adult children will catch the bug and pop up some more little ones. It’s how most generations work, you feel in love, get married, have kids, or at least some variation of that. Then you live out the rest of your life called Papa or Grandpa. And while that’s pretty much the way it goes, remember to keep yourself a pocket full of change, just in case you see one of the monkeys.