It's always a joy to drive up to Mom and Dad's house because I know I'll be seeing them both again. I'd gone to Wendy's for lunch for everyone, so we were all set with anticipated cheeseburgers, frescattas and a few french fries. I'm so glad Bill can see his grandparents as much as possible. I feel sorry that he's only 7, and won't get to build a lot of memories with them. One, however, that he'll hopefully always remember is playing "chicken and pig" with them. Two dice, a piece of paper and pencil (usually the names of the people are some nicknames or codewords or initials - on this day the names read "AB, for ABay, Bill's nickname; ZB, for Z Bapa, Dad's nickname; and MM, for Moo Moo, my nickname). The first person rolls both dice, and counts the total. If one die is a one, the person's turn ends. You can keep rolling, adding up the totals each time, until you want to stop. If you stop before you get a one, you're a chicken. If you don't stop until you get a one, and lose your points for that turn, well, you're a pig. We've got a little rubber pig that we lean on his front legs so that we can turn his curly-tailed butt at whomever happens to be the current pig. If you get TWO ones on a roll, you lose ALL of your points. The first one to get over 100 wins, but everyone else gets one more turn to beat them. Bill got 7 (count 'em, 7) snake eyes (double ones) in three games. He was a good sport about it. Dad got a snake eyes when he'd gotten over 100 but was rolling a few more insurance rolls. We always laugh and make snorting noises at each other, or clucking noises, complete with our hands under our armpits. elbows flapping. I love "chicken or pig." Mom can't play anymore because she can't see the dice, but she sits on her easy chair and listens and joins in when she can.
The boys went fishing off the dock, but nothing was biting. I took some precious pictures of the three of them (Dad, Steve and Bill), and I'm always touched at the look of love Dad's face as he gazes at whoever else is in the picture. I couldn't see through my tears for some of the pictures. When Bill hugs Grammy, he leans his head sweetly onto her so he's leaning on her heart. She hugs him tight, and he hugs her tightly back. There's none of that "I have to do this, so I'll tolerate it." No - he loves his Grammy, he loves his Bapa, and he knows that they are two of the most incredible people he will ever have the honor of spending time with. I know that, too.
My 47th birthday was sweet (Steve brought back white cupcakes with rainbow frosting and sprinkles - I took a miniscule bite off the cupcake part to be polite), and I wouldn't have wanted to spend it with anyone other than my parents. They said they don't remember when the last time any daughter spent the actual DAY of her birthday with them, and I was surprised, but overall just happy that I could look at them, laugh with them, hug them, yet another time. I will always remember this birthday.
I took back a big tote box of diaries, pictures, and slides, and started in on those yesterday. But that's a story for another day ...
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