A few decades ago, West Virginian Marian Lucille Herndon McQuade had an idea that turned into a mission. Her mission gained local momentum.  Then state momentum.  And finally, with help of civic, church and political leaders, Marian saw her idea pass into legislation by the United States Congress… and in 1978, the Grandparents Day proclamation was signed by President Jimmy Carter.

Marian had been an avid advocate for the elderly for many years before her idea to honor Grandparents came to her.  She had, in fact, dedicated her life to advocating for the elderly, particularly the lonely elderly in nursing homes.   And Marian also wished to help grandchildren understand the great wisdom and heritage of their grandparents.

Well, Marian… what a remarkable purpose you have given to all of us.  Grandparents Day is now celebrated each year on the first Sunday following Labor Day.  The autumn season of celebration was chosen to symbolize and signify the autumn years.

Let’s all celebrate this special Grandparents Day, on Sunday, September 7th, in the way Marian first intended it to be celebrated…  To honor grandparents.  To give grandparents an opportunity to show love for their children’s children.  And to help children become aware of the strength, information and guidance older people can offer.

The most wonderful way to honor grandparents and special elderly people in your life is through the gift of TIME.  Visits are the most special gifts of all, with lots of hugs and kisses and conversations.  Even the youngest children know the magic of hugs and kisses.  And the older children can appreciate the magical stories of yesteryear.  You know, the ones where Grandpa trudged through snow “this deep” just to get to school on a snowy winter day.  And the ones when Grandma hit a baseball farther than all the boys, so she wasn’t allowed to play with them again!

How about on this Grandparents Day you bring along a video camera and “interview” your special older family members and friends.  Start each question with, “In your day”… and add the fun, interesting and fabulous who, what, when, where, why and how questions.  Like, “In your day, what XBOX games did you like?”  Wait for those fun answers!  Or, “In your day, what was your screen name?”  Oh, boy!  Talk about sharing the tools of different generations.  Let the fun begin.

And if you cannot physically visit your older “friends,” how about a phone call interview… with a tape recorder or video chat?  As a certified “older” person, I know that I never run out of things to say… !  You should easily be able to transcribe the conversation into a beautiful hard copy keepsake for both the grandchildren and the grandparent(s).  Add personal child illustrations/drawings, and the rest is, literally, history.

The most perfect and valuable lesson in life is the ability to honor and respect others.  These lessons begin at home.  These lessons begin with our own families.  These lessons are gifts that cannot be purchased.

These lessons begin with you.

Let’s all spend this Sunday honoring our elderly population.  Let’s spend this Sunday thinking of Marian McQuade, a woman with a mission that has, at its core, life’s highest purpose.

HONOR.

For your own children, please find the TIME.

I am now a Facebook friend with a beautiful, fun, special woman who I met when she was 4 years old, and had the wonderful pleasure of watching grow up. Birthday parties. Graduation parties. A beautiful bride. Now a Mommy to 3 precious children, and expecting her 4th in February.

On her Facebook page this morning, she wrote about her 2-year old accidentally dialing 911. Police officers showing up at her door. Ah… good times.

This made me smile. Actually, I laughed. I know. I know. What if there had been a real emergency somewhere in town…

But it also reminded me that some things never change.

My little experience with police officers bursting into my home (from the same little town, I might add) happened almost 28 years ago. Oh, I do hope that these officers have retired somewhere nice and warm… where this story can be told anonymously.

It was a winter early evening. Jane was a few months old. She was teething. Very badly. My husband had gone to our local YMCA to play basketball. Audrey was begging for crayons and a coloring book.

Flashback to earlier in the day. I had had a very humorous discussion with a bunch of female teaching colleagues earlier in the week about Playgirl magazine. Now I don’t remember the details, but I do remember one of these gals bringing me in a copy of Playgirl as a little joke.

OK.

I tucked it in my school bag. You know, the bag with all of the papers I had to correct that evening. The bag ended up in my house. In my living room. Where Audrey was begging for crayons and a coloring book.

Back to early evening. Jane, my poor little darling, was getting more and more distressed with her poor little teeth, so I did something that I didn’t feel comfortable doing… but that everyone had recommended. Swibak cookies. I hated these things because they were supposed to be nice and hard and yet easy to chew. They scared me. I have always been (still am) afraid of kids choking. Well, I gave Jane a cookie to chew on. Within seconds, she was choking. I did all the choking things. Nothing.

I called the police department. I called the YMCA.

Within seconds, two young police officers were bursting through my door.

Also at that very second, Jane burped up a gummy pile of Swibak cookie.

And my husband came tearing though the door just in time to see it.

Ah… Relief. Calm. I could breathe again.

Except for the fact that Audrey had taken the Playgirl magazine from my school bag. And was meticulously coloring the men. Particularly their “parts.” Just humming a little song and using those crayons like there was no tomorrow.

I saw that my husband saw her. I saw that the police officers saw her.

I wanted to disappear.

So, hey. I didn’t try to explain. I just saw my husband trying to kick the “coloring book” under the couch while Audrey continued to color. I just held my little Janie and held my breath ’til the police officers were confident that all was well at the Couto household.

All was well? After I explained the story of the Playgirl and the Swibak and the frantic 911 call and the “coloring book” to my husband… well, we just laughed. We are still laughing.

But my husband has always wondered what those two young police officers thought about his wife as they headed back to real emergencies…

So. 911. Thank God that these two stories were not. Real emergencies, that is.

This morning, I watched as Audrey tried to coax her 17-month old son, Benjamin, into the house after a short trip to the milk store for some breakfast items.

Benjamin obviously sensed the beauty of this sunny, crisp New England morning, because he would not be coaxed. Instead, he ran through the dewy grass barefooted. He picked up a pail, filled with water from this past Saturday’s rain, and he got soaking wet. He stooped to turn over a rather large rock, and this is when Audrey meant business.

“Benja,” she scolded, “Do not touch that rock.”

But he did. And from under the rock wiggled the most engaging worm who ever crawled.

“Oh, great,” Audrey said to me. “He loves worms. Now I will never get him inside.”

I had to smile. I smiled because I love that Benja loves worms. And I smiled because it reminded me of story from Audrey’s childhood. A story with a bit of a different ending.

It was many, many years ago. Audrey was about as old as Benja is now. She was chasing her two older brothers in our back yard, and as boys do, they were exploring. Through the “woods.” In leaf piles. Under rocks.

It is the “under rocks” category that defined Audrey’s affinity, or lack thereof, for worms.

I was sweeping our back deck when I heard the scream. I froze for a moment with the fear that only a mother knows when her child screams. My heart stopped for that instant. I dropped my broom. And I ran.

The scream was coming from behind a big pine tree that hid a portion of our yard. And it was Audrey’s scream. I remember thinking that something must have happened to the boys, because why were they not screaming too. But as I tore around the trunk of that big old tree, I saw Keith and Adam playing with worms. Squiggly, squirming, pink, wet worms.

They were so enthralled with these creatures that Audrey’s screams were a mere secondary event.

I picked up Audrey. She stopped screaming. But she kept pointing to the rather large overturned rock. “Yuk. Yuk,” she sobbed. I wiped her tears as I winked at the boys.

Now… this is where my story will always differ with Audrey’s little experience with Benja this morning. And I will admit it now. Once, when Audrey could absolutely not be coaxed into the house, I actually said to her, “Honey, there are worms out there.”

She made a beeline for the back door, screaming. And I still, to this day, feel badly about it.

But Benja? No such luck. The worms will only keep him outdoors!

Dear Kohler,

I am the grandmother of 7 grandsons.

Count ‘em. 7. Andrew is 5. Jake is 4. William is 3. Alexander is 2. Benjamin is 1. Henry is 12 weeks. And Dylan is 6 weeks.

That’s a lotta… how can I say this delicately… pee.

Yesterday is a wonderful example of this “stream” of boys. My husband (Grandpa) and I had 5 of the boys at our home for breakfast. This means milk, juice, water, and more milk, juice and water. And all of these liquid refreshments translate into lots of… well, pee. And there seems to be nothing so great and adventurous as all crowding into the bathroom together to “go.”

So this morning I got online to research kid-friendly toilets and accessories, and found your Kohler K-4732 Elongated Closed Front Solid Plastic Seat With Quiet Close, Child and Adult Sizes, and Cover From The Transitions Collection. Ah… that’s a toilet-full!

This K-4732 seems like a great product for a visit-full of grandsons, and I will be ordering one.

But, by the way, you don’t happen to have a hydraulic toilet that goes up and down depending upon how tall or short these little grandsons are, do you? You know, all they would need to do is push a little foot pedal on the floor to adjust the height of the toilet? That would sure help around my house.

Think about Grandpa and me as your designers and engineers hit the drawing room with the plans for the HK-7G (Hydraulic Kohler-7Grandsons). I’ll be waiting here with all my little guys for the test runs.

Most sincerely,

Grandma Sharon

We call Audrey’s oldest son, William, “the sponge.”

William soaks in information like… well, a sponge. He loves all things about space, dinosaurs, trains. He can tell you anything you need to know about Lego Star Wars or Lego Indiana Jones. He loves weather, as in I think he may be a budding meteorologist.

But he also soaks in… and gives back… random pieces of information that he has acquired.

Take this morning, for instance. I headed to Audrey’s home to get some work done. Benjamin (16 months) greeted me at the door… and I mean greeted with a great big smile and a great big odor.

“Oh, my!” I said. “Someone needs a diaper change!”

William, who is turning 4 at the end of September, joined right in. “”Yeah. Sometimes babies smell up the whole house with their poops,” he said. Well, William should know. Even at his tender little age, he does have three (count ‘em, 3) little brothers. William then looked at me with a pensive expression and asked, “Grandma, do you and Pop-up ever have poop smells in your house?”

OK. Dare I get into this with a 3-year old and a Pop-up? “Yes,” I admitted. “Even grown-ups make nasty poop smells sometimes.”

Then William advised, “Then Grandma, I think you may enjoy Glade Scented Oils.”

I almost stopped my Benjamin changing duties with this little tidbit of info.

And William had more. Much more. “Glade Scented Oils would get rid of poop smells in your house, I think. And they come in many refreshing scents.”

OK. William was not only totally serious, he was totally serious.

I asked him where he found out about these amazing scented oils.

“On television,” he said. “I already told Mommy about them, but I don’t think she was listening.” He then pointed to the seriously poopy diaper with its seriously poopy smell.

By then, Audrey had entered the room. “Is he telling you about the Glade Scented Oils?” she asked. “I call him Mr. Info-mercial.”

My little William. My little sponge. You know what I think? I think he’s got my number when it comes to what I need. And I think I may just need (and enjoy) those child-endorsed Glade Scented Oils. And I may just throw in a couple for his Mommy, too!

My husband, Barry. This is the hottest man I know. Red-hot kind of hot. Hot before hot was in.

Mr. January? Easy. Cruising down a ski slop in his skivvies. He’s snow-melting hot.

Or Mr. June? Why wear anything?

Let’s roll around to Mr. October. Can you say “big pumpkins”?

OK. OK. I see your frown. You’re evolved. You’re looking for sizzling brain power. Social conscience. Laugh quotient. Well, he spells HOT with a capital H.

What’s that, you say?  Can a Dad and a Grandpa actually be “that” word (ewww… hot)?   Yessssss!

So why wasn’t this hot guy nominated for the 2009 Hot Blogger Calendar?

Oh. Yeah.

He doesn’t have a blog.

Minor detail.

Have you ever done this?

I did it yesterday.

And I am still cringing.

Oh… PLEASE make the memory disappear.

Barry and I were at a little farm stand, just having the best ‘ol summer time picking out beautiful ripe tomatoes, sun-touched corn, perfect peppers, luscious squash and nice, firm cucumbers.

Maybe it’s the cucumbers that got me into trouble. Hmmm.

Anyway, the farm stand was about four-deep with people hungering for the last days of summer, and a couple of people began to push just a teeny bit in their enthusiasm. One older “lady” was being kind-of pushed/leaned into Barry in an awkward way, so I said to Barry (very kind of me, huh?), “Honey, that lady wants to get by.”

Just tryin’ to help.

My husband shot me a glance that could fry tomatoes.

I thought to myself, “Hey, just trying to help a lady out.”

Well, the “lady” was a man. Well, he was a man who looked an awful lot like a lady. Hence, the “look” from Barry.

OK. I stood there. Trapped.

I locked my eyes on the cucumbers.

“These look nice, ” I said.

Well, maybe the “lady” could have given me a little more of a hint… !

Barry and I spontaneously took off this past Tuesday and headed to Cape Cod, or, as we New Englanders say, “the Cape.” The day was glorious… warm, breezy, beautiful sun in the big old blue sky.

Our plan was to head all the way to the tip of the Cape, to Provincetown, but a 13-mile construction warning detoured us to Hyannis. Ah… Hyannis. The home of the Summer White House all those decades ago. After we secured a great 2-night room, we headed right to the harbor for some lobstah and beers. As soon as we sat down, a monstrous rainstorm moved in and made for the best thunder and lightning we had ever experienced. And as we finished our lunch, the sun made her glorious appearance once again. Perfect for a boat ride around Hyannis and Hyannis Port … and perfect to catch a glimpse of the Kennedy Compound and an era gone by.

As we were coming back into the harbor, the sun took her hiding place behind some ominous black clouds… and as soon as we were off the boat, another thunder and lightning storm hit. This time, the sun pushed away the storm and made her appearance with the most brilliant rainbow I have ever seen.

That night… lobstah for dinner, while watching the sun and her magnificent show of setting in the East.

On Wednesday, we were up bright and early for a ferry ride to Nantucket. I have lived in New England for more than four decades, and I have never been to Nantucket, nor had Barry… so this trip was exciting. Two glorious hours on the ferry then brought us to the most stunningly beautiful island. We stepped off the ferry onto ageless cobblestone streets, exquisite little shops, the sounds and sights of a New England beauty, and little restaurants tucked here and there. We stopped for lobstah, of course, before taking a wonderful tour of this most enchanted and historic island. At the end of our day on Nantucket, our ferry ride back to Hyannis was spent quietly reading the books we had purchased on the island. My book is Nathaniel Philbrick’s In the Heart of the Sea: The Tragedy of the Whaleship Essex, a book about the story of the people and the ship from Nantucket… a book that tells of the adventure, saga, tragedy and truth of the whaling village of Nantucket in the early 19th century.

Yesterday was our last day on the Cape, and we did decide to head to Provincetown, traffic and all. And lo and behold… what a day it was. Again, a deliciously warm sun, more lobstah, and it just happened to be the day of the Provincetown Carvival Parade, the 30th year of the most fabulous Mardi-Gras-like parade through town. If a picture tells a thousand words… well, need I say more?

To the Cape… you have given me back my spirit after a very sad time for my family. Your beauty and serenity has enriched me. Your fabulousness has re-invented me.

So… “If you’re fond of sand dunes and salty air, Quaint little villages here and there… You’re sure to fall in love with old Cape Cod.”

Just like me!

There’s nothing quite like sharing a couple of peanut butter and jelly sandwiches with Pop-up on a warm summer afternoon at Grandma & Pop-up’s home…

Except maybe when Grandma gives you a nice cold “bah-bah” that Mommy and Daddy think you’ve totally outgrown!

OK, Benjamin.  It’s our secret!

August 14, 1976.

My name changed. My life changed.

The greatest dream that any woman could ever dream came true when you said “I do” 32 years ago today.

You gave me Keith and Adam. You gave me Audrey and Jane. These are beyond gifts. These are miracles.

We began a journey that would give us 9 more miracles, our precious grandchildren.

Your family embraced me. Your mom, who KNEW that you were, truly and honestly, the greatest thing since sliced bread and buttah, trusted me to love you as she did.

You may be the most handsome man in the world, with the biggest heart… but it was your humor that captured me first. I don’t think one day has passed when I have not laughed at your quick wit and your uncanny sense of timing. Oh, we all know that you don’t TELL jokes… rather, you SEE and FEEL the great height and depth of the humor of the human condition.

You are the only person in the world who can take a 24-hour day and turn it into 44. Your energy is enormous. You are an energy legend to anyone who knows you.

And most especially, your love is all-encompassing, all embracing… it multiplies by the moment. You have opened a giant circle to let everyone in.

Everyone loves you. Everyone respects you. You ARE the best thing since sliced bread and buttah!

Just as I said on that day, “I loved you yesterday.  I love you today.  I love you always.  And when in eternity, I will love you there again.”

Today, I say with all my love, Happy Anniversary, Honey!

This is a photo of my mother-in-law, Flo, who we laid to rest Tuesday, dancing with my father-in-law at our wedding. It is a wonderful memory of that day.