Bragging on grandchildren

 

Morgan and her clarinet

Got to brag on this Easter eve on my sweet Tomball granddaughter, Morgan Helene Alter. She is setting high school on fire. Morgan has been active in the marching band all through high school, playing the clarinet, practicing and rehearsing in all kinds of weather. Most recently, she and a group of band friends got together an ensemble, and now they’ve advanced from regional to state competition.

Morgan seems to be good at competitions. She is active in an organization called Family Community Career Leaders of America. In recent competition, her local group was in the food innovation category, and they put their own spin on Hello Fresh and other meal delivery services. They developed lunch box kits, created their own recipes, did taste tests, marketing research, and much more. They won the regional competition in Galveston and advanced to state in Dallas. Although they did not move up to national, Morgan and her colleagues all thought it was a great experience.

The FCCLA group is not Morgan’s first brush with food and cooking. She has been helping her mom in the kitchen for years, and it is a tradition every year that she fixes her dad a Father’s Day meal. Last year it was Beef Wellington with crème brûlée for dessert. I need to take cooking lessons from that girl!

One Sunday some fifteen years ago, all my grandkids were dedication in my church. We lined them all up on the chancel steps for a group picture with Madison, the oldest, holding Kegan, the youngest, then something like three weeks old. But it was Morgan who stole the show—she kept edging away from the group, giving them looks like, “I don’t want to be associated with them.” An independent spirit from the start. And a daddy’s girl—I remember how frantic she was, at maybe four, when her dad helped carry a chiffarobe up to the second floor of Jordan and Christians house.

Other scenes flash through my mind—when I babysat Morgan and Kegan and she told me she’d eat a whole tube of sweet rolls for breakfast. I told her she wouldn’t., but I made her open up her bedroom and get some fresh air in the space where she’d been hibernating. (I had a daughter who did that too.) Or her fondness for bread—one night at Texas Roadhouse when she quietly ate four or five rolls before we even got out dinner.

Or the weekend Colin and Morgan had come to Fort Worth. As they packed up to go home, Morgan said, "I think I've got everything, Juju," and I turned around to see that she had Sophie neatly tucked under her arm. 

And now all of a sudden, she’s such a lovely young woman. At Christmas just past, I had a couple of good visits with her, without the whole fam damily around, and was so pleased and proud of the person she’s become. Kudos to her and her parents.

Other grandchildren are doing well: Maddie, the oldest, has had a year out of school after earning her bachelor’s, but is preparing to start that advanced post-grad nursing program in June. And Kegan, Morgan’s brother, is limping along on crutches but hopes his broken tibia will heal in time for summer workouts. My suggestion of golf falls on deaf ears with him.

It's such a joy to watch grandchildren grow and develop—each their own person, each developing in such individual ways. I have Sawyer, who’s a genius on the guitar, and his brother, Ford, who’s an all-star baseball, basketball, soccer star, Eden at UCLA who excels equally in academics and college social life, Jacob and his absorption with golf. I look at them all with such pride.

Oh yeah, there are lots of days when I think back to the years when they were all toddlers—they did all arrive in bunches—and I get nostalgic. I want that cuddly little boy who adored me back, but he’s been replaced by a lanky, deep-voiced teen-ager who doesn’t talk a lot (though his sense of humor is intact). Or I want Edie back who used to say to me, “I believe I’d like to watch the food channel now, Juju.”

Grandparenthood (is that a word?) is like a lot of the rest of life as you age—you enjoy the present moment and treasure the memories. At least that’s what I’m telling myself.

Happy Easter, Passover, and Ramadan to those who celebrate. Tis a wonderful time of year, this spring season of renewal. My cup runneth over--I hope yours does too.

Morgan's mom, Lisa, on balloon duty 
for Easter at their church