|Okay. They may look a little funny. |
But we're still glad they're back!
Our youngest daughter and her family recently moved back to Edmonton from the west coast.
They had been away for far too long.
It was cause for celebration.
So everyone came over to . . . celebrate.
I should probably explain here that when all of our kids and their families gather, we number twenty-five people.
Twelve of whom are under the age of ten.
Generally, the parents and very youngest members gather in the front room upstairs to chat.
The oldest of the grandkids flee to the basement.
Where the toys are.
Now these kids are used to being together.
And treat each other like siblings.
Getting along fabulously for the most part.
With occasional bouts of tears and irritation.
It was a fairly normal evening.
Adults – visiting.
Kids downstairs – playing.
Someone started to cry.
Our six-year old came running up the stairs.
“Someone’s crying!” he announced.
Needlessly, I might point out.
I looked at him. “Who is crying?”
Now, my daughter’s family hadn't been around for some time. While the rest of his cousins were decidedly well known to this young man, her daughter was not.
He handled the confusion well.
“That baby, who I have no idea who she is!”
Ah. Identification complete.
Maybe we should put that on her birth certificate.