I grew up in a pretty traditional household, but as an adult our family shifted and I became part of a bigger, blended family. Marriage brought with it more family, and now we have six places to be for any given holiday. I enjoy being a part of each of these families, they are each unique and special to me. My paternal grandmother's family is so special based on size alone.
My great-grandmother, my Mama Young, gave birth to eleven children on nine different occasions. She had not one, but two sets of twins. Back-to-back. My grandmother is one of those twins, and anytime someone announces they're pregnant, we all hold our breaths waiting for that twin gene to pop up. (A side note, Matt's paternal grandmother is also a twin, so if I make it out of my child-bearing years without any it'll be a miracle.) Of all my great-grandparents, she is the only one I remember. The others all departed this life before, or shortly after my arrival. I got to have nine great years with Mama Young. Some of my most vivid childhood memories took place at her house: the little kids playing in the big front yard, some of the bigger kids playing around in Daddy Young's barn, my great-aunts all rocking on the front porch, and everyone drinking her sweet tea that was like no other.
There were always tons of relatives around, but she made sure to love on each of us individually. At Christmas she made sure she got to spend time with each of us opening our gift from her. The bible says in Proverbs, "her children arise up, and call her blessed". Amen to that. At the time of her departure, she left behind ten remaining children, thirty-six grandchildren, and twenty-seven great-grandchildren. Can you imagine THIRTY-SIX grandchildren? Can you imagine being one of those grandchildren and having THIRTY-FIVE first cousins? A blessed woman she was, and each of us blessed because of her. I am blessed with more aunts, uncles, and cousins that you can shake a stick at because the numbers have mostly grown. Poor Matt, we've been together nine years and he still could probably only name five of the bunch. I can name most all of them, or at least tell you who they belonged to. We don't really keep track of 1st, 2nd, 3rd, twice-removed formalities, we're all just family.
Yesterday we laid to rest Uncle Jack. He was the oldest living of my grandmother's siblings. There now remain eight, six sisters and two brothers. I know that Uncle Jack is rejoicing in Heaven with our Savior and has been reunited with his wife, his parents, and his brother and sister who went before him. I was blessed just to be there yesterday, among my family. To be reminded of why we decided to move back to North Alabama. We wanted our children to experience the same family closeness that we were both blessed with as children. Cohen probably won't have thirty-five first cousins, but he gets to be part of many different families.
After service I intended to head back to Florence, but as I was walking back to my car filled with all the nostalgia and family closeness I couldn't find my keys. The panic started to rise, the cold sweat, and the ultimate realization that yes, the keys were on the front passenger seat inside the locked car. I was forty-five minutes from home. Thankfully the procession hadn't left yet and I was able to hitch a ride to the grave-side service giving my knight in shining armor enough time to come to my rescue.
Matt worked on the house last night, so Cohen and I were on our own. I as anticipated, he ate only the protein parts of his dinner leaving us the recurring battle of the vegetable. After employing my tried and true parenting skills of continuous threatening and time-outs, met with Cohen's best moves of stalling and playing with his fork/food we had reached the pinnacle. His final option was to eat the two bites of squash or go to bed. He chose bed. Bless him, you could tell how tired he was by the effort he was putting into his hissy fits. Had we had a bath? No. Had his teeth been brushed? No. Was it worth another 30 minutes of screaming and crying to do either of those things? No. He must have really needed that extra hour and a half of sleep because he woke up in a wonderful mood.
It is in the midst of those battles that I have to stop and remember just how blessed I am to be a mother, to be his mother. He is my sweet boy but, the good Lord willing, there won't be ten more.
Katye
My great-grandmother, my Mama Young, gave birth to eleven children on nine different occasions. She had not one, but two sets of twins. Back-to-back. My grandmother is one of those twins, and anytime someone announces they're pregnant, we all hold our breaths waiting for that twin gene to pop up. (A side note, Matt's paternal grandmother is also a twin, so if I make it out of my child-bearing years without any it'll be a miracle.) Of all my great-grandparents, she is the only one I remember. The others all departed this life before, or shortly after my arrival. I got to have nine great years with Mama Young. Some of my most vivid childhood memories took place at her house: the little kids playing in the big front yard, some of the bigger kids playing around in Daddy Young's barn, my great-aunts all rocking on the front porch, and everyone drinking her sweet tea that was like no other.
There were always tons of relatives around, but she made sure to love on each of us individually. At Christmas she made sure she got to spend time with each of us opening our gift from her. The bible says in Proverbs, "her children arise up, and call her blessed". Amen to that. At the time of her departure, she left behind ten remaining children, thirty-six grandchildren, and twenty-seven great-grandchildren. Can you imagine THIRTY-SIX grandchildren? Can you imagine being one of those grandchildren and having THIRTY-FIVE first cousins? A blessed woman she was, and each of us blessed because of her. I am blessed with more aunts, uncles, and cousins that you can shake a stick at because the numbers have mostly grown. Poor Matt, we've been together nine years and he still could probably only name five of the bunch. I can name most all of them, or at least tell you who they belonged to. We don't really keep track of 1st, 2nd, 3rd, twice-removed formalities, we're all just family.
Yesterday we laid to rest Uncle Jack. He was the oldest living of my grandmother's siblings. There now remain eight, six sisters and two brothers. I know that Uncle Jack is rejoicing in Heaven with our Savior and has been reunited with his wife, his parents, and his brother and sister who went before him. I was blessed just to be there yesterday, among my family. To be reminded of why we decided to move back to North Alabama. We wanted our children to experience the same family closeness that we were both blessed with as children. Cohen probably won't have thirty-five first cousins, but he gets to be part of many different families.
After service I intended to head back to Florence, but as I was walking back to my car filled with all the nostalgia and family closeness I couldn't find my keys. The panic started to rise, the cold sweat, and the ultimate realization that yes, the keys were on the front passenger seat inside the locked car. I was forty-five minutes from home. Thankfully the procession hadn't left yet and I was able to hitch a ride to the grave-side service giving my knight in shining armor enough time to come to my rescue.
Matt worked on the house last night, so Cohen and I were on our own. I as anticipated, he ate only the protein parts of his dinner leaving us the recurring battle of the vegetable. After employing my tried and true parenting skills of continuous threatening and time-outs, met with Cohen's best moves of stalling and playing with his fork/food we had reached the pinnacle. His final option was to eat the two bites of squash or go to bed. He chose bed. Bless him, you could tell how tired he was by the effort he was putting into his hissy fits. Had we had a bath? No. Had his teeth been brushed? No. Was it worth another 30 minutes of screaming and crying to do either of those things? No. He must have really needed that extra hour and a half of sleep because he woke up in a wonderful mood.
It is in the midst of those battles that I have to stop and remember just how blessed I am to be a mother, to be his mother. He is my sweet boy but, the good Lord willing, there won't be ten more.
Katye
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