Once upon a time... we got out the calculator (before computers) and figured we had not slept through the night once in 11 years. We also deduced that I had been pregnant or nursing or both for 9 straight years. I usually smelled like a dairy, or a barn, or both. I had not had an uninterrupted hot cup of coffee in... well, I couldn't remember when the last one was. I wasn't remembering much, actually.
But I do remember making challah bread with my children and picking off the cat hairs from the dough after Isaac dropped his little braided loaf on the floor on its way to the oven. And I remember the day they named the kittens. The kids held the equivalent of a world congress from which I had been banned while they debated. The verdict they arrived at was "Orangy" for the tiny calico, and "Little Fuzzy Fur Feet" for the black one. I will never forget the day Hannah asked me, "Who puts the eggs under the chickens for me to find?" Or when they wanted to know if they were born in the shell or out of the shell.
The joys outweighed the sacrifices. We didn't do everything right. I am sorry if my past blogs gave the impression that it was all bliss. No, it was all trial and error. Year after year. Nothing from all those years of school prepared us for parenthood, but we are so very blessed because of them. I wouldn't trade those years for anything. And now they are gone, only memories that I cling to.
What I am left with is five confident, beautiful adults, all seeking their place in the world, all caring, curious, insightful, independent, very unique people.
~ Grandma Stephanie
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