The Ditty of Sandpaper Pappy (or, "The Grandparents Came to Visit!")

           Since the age of 18, I haven’t lived within 400 miles of my parents (notable exception being the awesome 1.25 year period between my wedding and end of maternity leave, when The Parents, The Bro and I were all in the same 30 mile radius).  This isn’t because we don’t like each other; sometimes jobs and lives just lead you to different places.  My immediate family is actually pretty tight-knit, so visits have always been a source of uber excitement.  And this past week was one of those times.

            The Parents are Southerners through and through, but had lived West of the Mississippi for about twenty years.  If you ask me or The Bro, we’ll claim Southern roots even though we haven’t lived there since 1990. [Side note – yes, it is very strange to be brought up as “Southern” when your formative years are spent living on the West Coast.  But I suppose HD will get a bit of that in her upbringing as well.  That’s a whole other post yet to come.]  The Parents retired from the Bay Area back to Charleston, SC last year.  I miss them terribly but am really happy they’re in a place they love.  And that I have such a fun place to visit once or twice a year.  And that they feel the magnetic pull of an adorable granddaughter, whose cuteness causes them to visit about every other month.  Which means plenty of reunions are still in store.  Yay!

            HD had a blast playing with her grandparents the past few days.  Most babies are magically drawn to my daddy.  Maybe it’s the bald head (“Hey, he’s like me!”) or the soft, deep Southern drawl.  HD was no exception.  After he spoke about two sentences to her, she did that open-arm-dive-bomb-toward-my-new-friend-hold-me-now move.  I think it’s because he kept telling her how pretty she was.  My daughter is already a sucker for flattery.  Check out the happy couple:     



           My mama is a beacon of energy.  She keeps up with playing a full day with my kid better than I do.  She pushed strollers, helped HD “walk,” read books, repeatedly built block towers that were instantly knocked down, and sang songs.  Oh, did The Mama sing songs!  My personal fave was “Saaand-pay-puh Paaa-pay, ch-ch-ch-chhhhhh!”  This is apparently an ode to my father, who has a full, bristly goatee (you know, like sandpaper).  HD would rub her Pappy’s scratchy face and pat his head when the song was sung.  Sadly, I don’t have the tune on video.  Although I’ve been singing it in my head since last Wednesday, so I guess I don’t need one for posterity.  Mama --  I know you’re reading this.  You’ve now been tasked with coming up with full lyrics, since I can’t get beyond the one line chorus.  It’s the only way I’ll be able to get your God forsaken tune out of my head!

Let’s see.  Other than that, and a wonderful family lunch with The Bro and his fiancé for his birthday (woo!), HD’s been doing all sorts of stuff.  Like refusing to eat baby food.  Nine months old and this kid is already a connoisseur of baba ganooj, sautéed spinach, and mashed potatoes.  Straight up won’t eat unless it’s from the end of my fork.  I guess with all that garlic, she really did inherit the family’s taste buds.