We are a family of traditions: if you read along as I chronicle our adventures, you already know that. While the practice of the traditions is a family operation, their inspiration commonly finds its source at my heart's stoop. I grew up with some traditions but, when Craig and I got married, I wanted our story to be woven by-products of the "Remember that time when..." or "Every year we..." that intentional traditions create. So, we started that rhythmic repeat of memory-makings from day one - and only added more when each child arrived. Some I carried from my childhood, some we continued from Craig's, and still others I "borrowed" from great families all around the country.
But one of my favorite traditions was neither sparked by my hand nor conceived by my head. No, this one is all Craig.
When Grace was in Kindergarten, she came home with her very first permission slip. Tra-la!!! I couldn't believe we were already at this stage of her little life yet, nonetheless, there we were, scanning the various tidbits of time, place, date, and need for chaperones. Over dinner that night, I expressed that shock (and excitement, by the way) to my husband who, in his unique fashion, smiled then nodded then took a bite of food. After a beat or two of silence he added, "You know, I'll chaperone the school trips. Our kids will see me stop life for 'em, and they'll remember how I loved them more than my job. These'll be our special memories."
Yes, I'll pause her while every child of father stops to consider THAT tear-jerking sentiment.
So a tradition was born. One that Craig now carries to Elijah and one that, I've no doubt, will transcend to Judsen. So Craig takes the day off work and, much to every teacher's delight, arrives early to assist with the potty line, name tag stickings, and bus loading. He never seems to mind he's the only father and never has a problem with his assigned group - snicker, snicker. (For those who haven't met Craig, imagine their David to his Goliath and you'll get the general idea).
This month was Craig's first field trip of the school year. He went with Elijah's first grade class to Venetucci Farms to learn about plant life and picking pumpkins. A week before the trip, Elijah reminded daily anyone who'd listen that his daddy was "chappalonein" (chap-pa-lone-in) his outing.
They got to select their fave gourd and, in classic E fashion, he picked a 10-pounder that was less than easy to cart home. But, he said, "It was easier when I crammed it into my backpack."
He sure is proud of that pumpkin, which he affectionately titles, "The Great Pumpkin."
Later, Judd and I walked a block to our neighborhood park where we met the class returning for a picnic lunch outside. I packed them some yummy treats, delivered their satchels, and left them to enjoy a perfectly sunny, moderately temped, fulsomely joyous end to a memory-making day of tradition.
And, when I looked back, I saw a tiny boy sitting criss-cross next to his giant Daddy (also sitting criss-cross), and my heart snapped the picture...for one day, I know I'll struggle to recall how small my firstborn son once was and wonder how he ever sat so near his father without consuming all the space.
And I'll think of The Great Pumpkin Day.
And I'll smile.
But one of my favorite traditions was neither sparked by my hand nor conceived by my head. No, this one is all Craig.
When Grace was in Kindergarten, she came home with her very first permission slip. Tra-la!!! I couldn't believe we were already at this stage of her little life yet, nonetheless, there we were, scanning the various tidbits of time, place, date, and need for chaperones. Over dinner that night, I expressed that shock (and excitement, by the way) to my husband who, in his unique fashion, smiled then nodded then took a bite of food. After a beat or two of silence he added, "You know, I'll chaperone the school trips. Our kids will see me stop life for 'em, and they'll remember how I loved them more than my job. These'll be our special memories."
Yes, I'll pause her while every child of father stops to consider THAT tear-jerking sentiment.
So a tradition was born. One that Craig now carries to Elijah and one that, I've no doubt, will transcend to Judsen. So Craig takes the day off work and, much to every teacher's delight, arrives early to assist with the potty line, name tag stickings, and bus loading. He never seems to mind he's the only father and never has a problem with his assigned group - snicker, snicker. (For those who haven't met Craig, imagine their David to his Goliath and you'll get the general idea).
This month was Craig's first field trip of the school year. He went with Elijah's first grade class to Venetucci Farms to learn about plant life and picking pumpkins. A week before the trip, Elijah reminded daily anyone who'd listen that his daddy was "chappalonein" (chap-pa-lone-in) his outing.
They got to select their fave gourd and, in classic E fashion, he picked a 10-pounder that was less than easy to cart home. But, he said, "It was easier when I crammed it into my backpack."
And he's abundantly proud that his hands are "just like my Daddy's."
True that.
True that.
And, when I looked back, I saw a tiny boy sitting criss-cross next to his giant Daddy (also sitting criss-cross), and my heart snapped the picture...for one day, I know I'll struggle to recall how small my firstborn son once was and wonder how he ever sat so near his father without consuming all the space.
And I'll think of The Great Pumpkin Day.
And I'll smile.
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