Bear Watch

It’s funny how things work out.  How we end up doing things we didn’t think we’d still be doing after already raising four kids.  Every Friday, right around this time, we go on Bear Watch.  Friday night to Monday morning – every week.  Car seat, juice boxes, teeny t-shirts, princess dolls – the whole 9 yards.  Also tantrums, potty training, learning to talk, read, listen, swim, run, play, all of it.  I’m not ecstatic about the reasons why it’s necessary for us to do what we’re doing but that’s another blog post.

Bear is our granddaughter’s nickname.  She is Laotian and Nicaraguan, the birth daughter of one of our adopted kids.  We also have a granddaughter who is Chinese who is the adopted daughter of a birth child.  I think this should earn us a feature on Oprah, don’t you? 

We thought we would be doing other things right now.  Fun things, adult things, maybe even expensive things.  But we’re kind of stuck on the Zoo Train.  All that whistle blowing, waving at people, looking at the real bears. 

And Gramps?  All that heavy lifting.  Protecting the little squirt from the fake dinosaurs when we could be playing golf.  (We’ve never actually played golf but we could have if we weren’t tied up with this darn kid.) 

Pitiful, isn’t it?  Poor us.

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