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Second String Grandparents
The 4000 miles that keep us from our granddaughter are too damn far
Our sixteen-month-old granddaughter Luisa has settled into Lisbon, Portugal. She is flourishing. Her auburn hair matches her mother’s, who combs it into wild high pigtails. She is in constant motion, building with blocks and “reading” one book after another.
Mangos, avocados and porridge, with a dusting of Old Bay Seasoning are her favorite foods. She is learning names. Her parents stroke the beleaguered family dog, crooning “good boy, sweet boy.” Luisa now commandingly calls him “Boy,” despite the fact that she knows his name is Fred.
Our daughter Sarah is a fan of thrift and resale shops. Due to Sarah’s unique unconventional taste, Luisa might wear watermelon and yellow striped pants with a red Dinosaur top and navy NIKEs to school. I suspect that the adorable, flowered dress I sent last month will never see the light of day.
Since the day she was born, our daughter has called us on Face Time, so we can get a good look at Luisa. Sharing the screen between our two heads is a true test of our relationship. Sarah narrates each day's developmental milestones.
We watch Luisa eat and then litter the living room with her toys. She has an endearing habit of kissing her mother and her…
