When I was a kid, we lived near both of my grandparents. At one point, we lived in my grandma's old farmhouse, and then we moved a few miles away but only a couple of blocks from my other grandparents. We also saw my great-grandparents in California as often as we could. I feel really lucky that my kids have their grandparents in their lives, and for at least a few years knew their great-grandparents as well. There's something special about knowing people from other generations, with other experiences, whose history and stories then becomes part of your own history and your family stories. My great-grandmother was born in a sod house on the prairie in 1892, and I knew her through most of my life until she died in 1992. My grandma once ran out of gas in her VW bug while dressed in a bunny rabbit costume (don't ask, my family's so crazy I never had a shot at normality). My grandpa was on a Navy ship in WWII. My kids grandparents have their own stories to tell, and I think our kids are blessed to be able to hear them.
My dad and step-mom came to visit last week and the kids brought their guinea pigs out to hold. It was just one of those sweet little moments that swirls by, but I know that as our kids get older they will appreciate all these little times. And now I have to sign off, because my mom will soon be here and there's cookie dough to get ready. There's nothing better than baking cookies with grandma to start the holidays off right.
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