Father’s Day began with Jack climbing between us in our bed and elbowing our stomachs and ribs with his elbows. But there was no Code Brown today, so it WAS a holiday.
After sacrament meeting, we visited Great-Grandma and Grandpa Snow. Within two minutes of arrival, Jack had pillaged Grandma’s supply of lemon chiffon yogurt, which she eats every day at lunchtime with a chocolate doughnut. Also, she is diabetic but is clearly sticking it to the diabetes. Rock on Grandma Snow.
Then Jack turned off Grandpa’s oxygen. That he uses to breathe.
Grandma Joyce turned it back on, and then cousin James turned it down from 3.5 to 1.5. The great-grandchildren were really tough on Grandpa Snow’s lungs today.
Seeing those two was a Father’s Day treat for me. I want to be like them when I’m in my upper 80’s/early 90’s. With more than 40 great-grandchildren, they remember each of their birthdays and send them each a gift. Same thing at Christmas. And they’ve worked in the temple for years and years and years and years. This brand of selflessness seems rare and precious.
Who calls their 40-year-old grandson with silver hair “Honey?”
Dutch’s grandparents do.