A Grandson Balances Everything

If you follow this blog regularly, you know Terry and I recently lost our cat, Nikki. Yes, only a cat to some, but a purry companion to us.

And you know I am getting techy about getting sidetracked and letting what I feel is small stuff pile on. The sabbatical and saying no are two ways to get refocused.

One new focus is Howard Marshall Eriksen, "Howie." We saw him for the first time two weeks ago and fell in love. At two months, his personality is developing. He's a lazy eater who falls asleep with the nipple in his mouth. He's happy and smiles a lot, particularly when he's on a lap or in his rocky, bouncy chair. He's vain, because his rocky, bouncy chair has a mirror tied to it. He can spend an hour staring at the cute baby. He melts down at the adult dinner hour, but calms down for bath and bed. He has the parents and all sets of grandparents wrapped around his little fingers.

Howie has more outfits than any child can wear, but the Payne Stewart outfit was perfect. I hope he becomes a golfer, but more than that, I hope he becomes whatever he wants to be.

Howie is lucky. He has so many sets of grandparents that we all had to sort out what we wanted to be called. Terry thought about his name and decided he would honor his father-in-law and be Pop-Pop.

I write about Mad Max, who doesn't want to be called Grandma or any cute derivitive. I'm like Max. I picked a name that doesn't really mean I'm a grandparent. Oh, no, I won't tell you want it is. I can tell you it is not Mad Max.