I think being a night person is genetic. Poor Nick seems to suffer the same affliction I do, in that the world doesn’t work on our schedules. This morning he came dragging into the living room around eleven. He climbed up on the sofa, heaved a huge sigh, scratched his head and looked around blearily, then said, “Well, I guess I am awake now” in the most disgusted voice I have ever heard a four year old use.

Then, later in the day, we were watching Polar Express for the umpteenth time since he got here, and I was starting to doze off. He wiggled over closer to me, pulled the blanket up, and said, “Go ahead Nana, take a little nap, I will watch over you.” When I looked down at him about three minutes later, he was sound asleep. So I napped too. When I woke up, he was staring intently at my face, and the second I opened my eyes, he said, “See Nana, I watched over you.”

It is lovely being a Nana. It is also tiring. But you know, I just want to make memories for my grandchildren that they will remember all their lives. Nick may not remember the particulars of each visit he has here when he grows up, but he will remember the love, and the fun we had. Maybe he will remember our chats, and all the stories he gets told at bedtime. And, when he is a Papa, maybe he will tell them to his grandchildren too.

Continuity in family is a blessing, traditions are a comfort, and love is never ending when you are a grandparent.

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