Parents, make sure you get video of your kids doing everyday things, not just the big holidays and special occasions

 

The advent of home movie cameras in the mid-20th century (and later the camcorder revolution of the 1980s) meant that families for the first time could capture video of events formerly documented only through still photos pasted into scrapbooks.

The result, for many of us, is a library of old reel-to-reel, VHS and Super 8 tapes on which our moms and dads recorded birthday and graduation parties, Christmas morning gift openings, and other such notable celebrations.

All of those are wonderful, and I'm grateful for modern conversion devices that allow us to transfer those memories into longer-lasting digital formats. But as a parent of grown children, I will say this: My favorite videos aren't necessarily the parties and school concerts, as great as those are.

My favorites are when we thought to record the kids just doing normal stuff. Whether it was playing with toys in the living room, interacting with siblings, or even something as seemingly mundane as reading a book on the couch, the clips I most value are the ones that remind me of the stuff of everyday life all those years ago.

The video above is an example of that. It was shot by Terry in late August 1999, just as our oldest child Elissa was starting kindergarten. It shows Elissa getting on and off the bus, and her almost-three-year-old sister Chloe saying how much she would miss her.

That's it. Nothing seemingly special, yet it means everything.

It brings me back to a time of the most enjoyable chaos I've ever experienced. It triggers memories of family dinners with young children, cherished bedtime stories, and everything else that made up the fabric of our existence.

So parents, keep on taking video of the big things. But every once in a while, record the smaller stuff, too. One day you'll be grateful you did.

(NOTE: Speaking of Chloe, she begins her 5-year medical school journey today with a week of orientation at the Cleveland Clinic Lerner College of Medicine. Good luck, Dr. Edmonds! By this time in 2031, you will officially be Dr. Dr. Edmonds. Or Double Doctor Edmonds. We'll have to figure out how to say it...)

Everything can change (for the better) with a single phone call

It was a Thursday in late April. I was working from home and had come downstairs to spend a few minutes with my daughter Chloe and grandson Cal. They were hanging at our house that day while son-in-law / husband / dad Michael was out of town for work.

I was holding Cal and talking to Chloe when her phone rang. She looked at the screen and said, in a tone of excitement, "That's a 216 number!"

It took me a second to realize what she meant.

Chloe had been accepted into The Ohio State University College of Medicine a few months earlier. She had visited the school a couple of times, and she and Michael were already making plans to sell their house and move to Columbus.

The only thing that could keep them in Northeast Ohio was if Chloe were to gain admission to the Cleveland Clinic Lerner College of Medicine.

Or should I say "the highly selective Cleveland Clinic Lerner College of Medicine," as that's sometimes how you see it referred to.

Chloe had been waitlisted at Lerner, which essentially means, "At the moment, we're not accepting you. But we're not rejecting you, either."

She had also been accepted to one other med school and waitlisted at yet another, but ultimately, this was a two-horse race. It was either going to be Ohio State or Lerner. She had told the Lerner folks that, if she were to be admitted there, she would absolutely attend, no questions asked.

The problem is that only 32 students are admitted to the Lerner College of Medicine each year. That's 32 out of about 2,000 applicants.

There is no doubt Lerner is an outstanding medical school. Elite, even. But for many, one of the main draws is the fact that it's free.

Completely free. A five-year medical degree without charge.

Even with its relatively affordable tuition, Ohio State can't compete with free.

So before diving in and making full preparations for a move south, Chloe wanted to hear one way or another from Lerner. She needed closure, which is understandable.

As a frequent participant in online medical school applicant discussion forums, she knew exactly when the Lerner folks were likely to make their "yes" or "no" calls to wait-listers.

Which is why the appearance of an unknown 216 (Cleveland) number on her phone in late April gave her a jolt of adrenaline.

She answered the call with a cautious "Hello?"

You know how, if a room is relatively quiet, you can hear someone on the other end of a cell conversation? I made out just enough to decipher that the caller was Dr. Christine Warren from the Lerner College of Medicine.

I heard Dr. Warren say she was calling with good news that they were formally going to offer Chloe admission. I saw Chloe's eyes go wide and a smile start to play across her face.

I began silently jumping up and down in celebration while still holding Cal, which made him a little nervous. He obviously didn't know what was going on.

When Chloe got off her call, I ran over and hugged her, and we both started jumping up and down.

Cal cried a little, scared by all the commotion. I cried, too. Only my tears came from the realization that all of our lives had changed in an instant.

Not only did that phone call mean Chloe, Michael and Cal would continue living relatively close to us, it also meant that Chloe was going to save herself a few hundred thousand dollars in med school tuition.

Terry was out of town at the time, and I enjoyed listening in when Chloe called her mother and told her the good news.

Terry, bless her heart, always had faith that Chloe would get into Lerner. Both of us wanted whatever was best for Chloe and family, but we also wanted them to remain local so that we could continue seeing our little grandson as often as possible.

I had already resigned myself to the idea that Chloe was going to Ohio State. We would undoubtedly make the drive of 2+ hours to Columbus regularly, I figured, which was certainly better than nothing.

But Terry never wavered. She said Chloe was going to get in, and she did.

Which in retrospect makes sense, I suppose. I mean, she is already DOCTOR Chloe Edmonds, having earned her PhD in neuroscience two years ago. I don't know how many Lerner applicants can say they hold PhD's.

Then there was the fact that Chloe is an experienced researcher who has been published in multiple medical journals. The Lerner College trains physician-researchers, which is right up Chloe's professional alley.

And ultimately, there's the fact that she's Chloe. Chloe does big things. She decides she's going to do them, and she does them.

And now Dr. Edmonds is on her way to becoming Dr. Dr. Edmonds. Well, actually, if all goes well, she'll be Chloe Edmonds, MD, PhD.

Amazing.

She starts the program July 6, with the traditional white coat ceremony scheduled for the following Sunday.

You can bet we'll all be there to see her get that well-deserved white coat.

And you can bet Cal is going to continue getting all the Grammy and Grandpa time he can handle.

All because of one two-minute phone call.

A Q&A interview with my 7-month-old grandson Cal

NOTE: It's not often we here at 5 Kids, 1 Wife, 1 Grandchild score anything you might call an "exclusive," but we've definitely hit a home run today. We're proud to present the first published interview with Calvin Edmonds, world-renowned formula expert, diaper connoisseur, and – in what I do not consider to be any sort of journalistic conflict – our grandchild. Calvin recently sat down with us to share his views on life as an infant and how easy it is to manipulate your parents and grandparents.

5 Kids, 1 Wife, 1 Grandchild (5K1W1G): Calvin, this is so exciting! Thanks for taking time out of your busy schedule of rolling, crying, pooping and attending the occasional library story time to talk with us.

Calvin: It's all good, Grandpa, my pleasure.

5K1W1G: So...you've been around for 7 months now. How is it going for you? Has life been everything you expected?

Calvin: Honestly, I didn't have any expectations at all. One minute I'm in a warm, dark, cramped place, the next I'm in a hospital NICU hooked up to all sorts of machines. I had no idea there was anything outside the womb. Let's just say I'm still adjusting.

5K1W1G: Your parents, Chloe and Michael. They meet your every need and respond to your every whim. You have to be happy with their performance so far.

Calvin: Oh absolutely, they're amazing. I didn't realize I would be given my own personal servants, but now I can't imagine life without them.

5K1W1G: Any constructive feedback for them?

Calvin: I don't want to sound ungrateful, since those two are rookies at this just like I am. But I will say that sometimes when I cry, they take upwards of 15 seconds to figure out what I want and give it to me. Seven months into this gig, I don't think we need those sorts of delays.

5K1W1G: What about your Grammy Terry and me? How are we doing?

Calvin: All due respect? You guys are suckers. I thought I could make Mom and Dad do whatever I wanted, but you guys...it's like mind control. You're hilariously easy. Whatever I want, whenever I want it, you give it to me.

5K1W1G: We view it as our mission in life. Any areas of improvement for us?

Calvin: I enjoy coming to see you, but you can't drive down to my house more often? Akron too far for you to spend time with your one and only grandchild?

5K1W1G: Well, I mean, Grammy comes to your place quite often. It's just that I have to work five days a week to keep her in the lifestyle to which she has become accustomed.

Calvin: Sounds like an excuse. Let's work on that.

5K1W1G: We will, I promise. I see your mom already has you in swimming lessons and music classes. How engaged are you with these activities?

Calvin: More than you think, though my job is usually just to look around and occasionally smile to let her know I'm enjoying myself.

5K1W1G: Speaking of your mom, she plans to become a doctor. How do you feel about that?

Calvin: My experience with doctors is that they talk to you like they're your best friend then turn around and give you shots. I don't trust 'em. At some point during med school, I predict Mom is going to see through this charade and rethink her life choices.

5K1W1G: And your dad, Michael. What does he do for work?

Calvin: It has something to do with trucks. And buildings, I think. I'm not entirely sure. I mean, I'm 7 months old.

5K1W1G: With a surprisingly advanced vocabulary. Hey, I can't help but notice you have a couple of teeth now. Are you putting those to use?

Calvin: If by "putting those to use" you mean biting my mom from time to time, then yes. Food-wise, they've been giving me cereal and other mushy stuff, but nothing that really requires you to have a good set of incisors, you know? I assume the steak and hard candy will come later.

5K1W1G: What about hobbies? Any personal interests you've picked up?

Calvin: My dad and I are gamers. Well, I mean, he does the actual "gaming," but I'm usually strapped to him in the carrier while he does it. I've seen enough to know that if you put a PlayStation controller in my hands, I could dominate at FIFA.

5K1W1G: At this point in the interview, we should probably address the elephant in the room – your looks. You're a strikingly handsome fellow. Gerber Baby cute. How has that affected you?

Calvin: <sighs> Look, I appreciate the compliments, but do you know how hard it is to look this good? People treat you differently. They stare at you. They don't care about your thoughts or ideas. Like the other day, I had just finished reading "The Communist Manifesto" for the third time, and I wanted to share with Mom my criticisms of the book and where Marx went wrong. But she wasn't having any of it. Over and over, all she did was get in my face and ask, "Who's a cute boy? WHO'S A CUTE BOY?!?" Me, the answer is me. I know that, she knows that. Can we move on? I'm telling you, it's exhausting being one of the Beautiful People. You uglies have it so much easier...

5K1W1G: Wait, what?

Calvin: Nothing.

5K1W1G: Well, I think it's just about nap time for you, so one last question. If you could be a tree, what kind of tree would you be?

Calvin: Oh, Grandpa, that's so cliche. You're better than that. Why don't you just launch into your "I was on two game shows" story for the thousandth time?

5K1W1G: That hurts.

Calvin: Sorry. I love you, Grandpa.

5K1W1G: I love you, too, buddy.

OK, let's get back to Calvin...

When my grandson Calvin was born last August, I changed the name of this blog to "5 Kids, 1 Wife, 1 Grandchild." As you might expect, the young man has gotten more than his share of exposure here over the ensuing half a year, and rightly so.

But I never wanted the blog to become "all Cal all the time," so you will note that it has been six weeks since I last posted about him.

Time for the little guy to return.

This Wednesday, Cal turns 6 months old. He rolls over like a champ, has a couple of teeth that have broken through, and delights Terry and me by Facetiming us on days when neither of us is able to see him in person.

He also sometimes wakes up a little too early for his mom Chloe's liking, and he is a master grump when tired or simply not getting his way.

Right now, Cal, his mom, and his dad Michael live about 45 minutes away from us in Akron. Where they'll be living this time next year is entirely dependent on where Chloe attends medical school.

She has already been accepted to one institution that would require her to move 2+ hours south of us. That's not ideal, but it's also not a dealbreaker. We could manage it and still see Cal and his parents regularly.

Meanwhile, Chloe is waiting to hear final decisions from two other med schools nearer to home. Acceptance to either could mean they would stay in Akron or move even closer to us.

Let the record show we would certainly not object to that.

I want what's best for Chloe and her family, honestly, but I also want the little guy with whom Terry and I are obsessed to be more accessible.

Either way, fingers crossed.

You can understand our dilemma.

No more teenagers in the family

For the past 6,883 days, we have had at least one teenager in our family. Tomorrow that streak comes to an end when our youngest, Jack, turns 20.

I say "at least one" because for most of that time, there have been multiple teens among our children. There was one stretch from September 2013 to March 2014 when four of them were teenagers.

Come tonight at midnight, the counter resets permanently to zero.

It's another one of those little life milestones you don't think too much about until they actually happen. As I told someone recently, the combination of having our first grandchild and seeing the family teen years come to an end really brings home how quickly time passes.

Other than a string of car accidents and some other relatively minor crises, I've enjoyed having teenagers. I really have.

I got to see them all graduate high school and go off to college. Four have degrees, with Jack currently working his way through the second semester of his freshman year at Cleveland State University.

I've seen one get married and have a baby, one get engaged, and one build an incredible life with a longtime partner we absolutely love (that last one is Elissa, whose boyfriend Mark has long been a full-fledged member of the family and is one of the best bakers I've ever met).

On the other hand, as the kids have gotten older, I've come to realize that much of my fondness for their teen years stems from how much I didn't know. As they get into their 20s and 30s, they're very free about confessing stuff they did as teenagers that, in retrospect, I'm glad I wasn't aware of.

Ignorance is truly bliss, in this case.

Still, Terry and I can't deny that we've been blessed with five great kids who are turning out to be some pretty great adults. We experienced our share of homecomings, proms, high school sporting events and all the other stuff that comes with having children in the 13-19 age range.

And now we're past it all. Time to move on.

Which is just fine.

(Happy early birthday to the one and only Mr. Jack Tennant!)

You're my little potato

Me reading a book to Cal at his house recently. He seemed to appreciate the effort, but his expression told me, "I think Mom and Dad do this better than you, Grandpa."

My four-month-old grandson Cal is comforted by the funniest things.

Like running water. I find if he's tired and cranky but not yet ready to go down for a nap, I can take him the bathroom and turn on the faucet.

That sound calms him down, as does looking at his own reflection in the bathroom mirror. Taken together, the water and seeing his own face always stop his tears, if not make him downright happy.

There are also certain songs that soothe him. Actually, I'm not sure whether it's the songs themselves or the fact that his mom, my daughter Chloe, is singing them.

Chloe has always had a nice voice, and Calvin responds much better when she sings "The Eensy Weensy Calvin" (a slight adaptation of "The Eensy Weensy Spider") to him than when I do.

There is, however, one song that makes him happy no matter who sings it. And the recorded version seems to work best of all.

That tune is "My Little Potato" by the group Metamora. (The link takes you to YouTube. If you're interested in just the lyrics, here they are.)

It's a playful, silly little song, but also a heartfelt tribute to newborns everywhere and the people who love them.

You’re my little potato, they dug you up, you come from underground. The world is big, so big, it’s very big. To you it’s new, it’s new to you. 

And later...

You’re my sweet potato, they dug you up, you come from underground. You smile a smile, a little smile. The world is small, so small, it’s very small. 

Chloe discovered it from a friend who is also a relatively new mom, and over the last few months, it has been in heavy rotation in her car and on my Apple Music playlists.

It is, in effect, my Cal anthem. I've played it for him on my phone and have softly sung it to him while trying to get him to sleep.

It reminds me of everything I felt as a new dad back in The Day and everything I'm feeling and learning as a new grandpa.

He won't remember it as he gets older and baby songs give way to toddler songs and little kid songs and eventually popular songs of the type he will love and his grandfather will patiently endure.

No matter, though. As long as he knows he'll always be Grandpa's little potato, that's good enough.

Sleepovers: 1983 vs. 2026

I continue to (somewhat shamelessly) post photos of my grandson on this blog.

There was a period in the early 1980s – probably '81 through about '84 – in which the social highlight of any given week for me was sleeping over a friend's house. Or having that friend sleep over my house.

I spent countless nights sleeping in friends' bedrooms and basements, often on the floor. This didn't bother me because I was a teenager, and teenagers can sleep on concrete.

Come to think of it, we did sleep on concrete once. I don't know why, but we spent much of a night sleeping on my friend Kevin's driveway. A couple of people slept in lawn chairs, and a couple of us just laid down where we were and slept for several hours.

Outside. In the middle of summer. In the driveway.

I don't know that I could pull that off now.

Anyway, sleepovers were always a lot of fun. I regularly slept at my friend Mel's house. When I did, I would grab my sleeping bag and literally nothing else, hop on my little BMX bike, and take the 15-minute ride to Mel's place on the north end of Wickliffe.

His mom would have 2-liter plastic bottles of Pepsi for both of us: regular for me and diet for Mel because of his Type 1 diabetes.

The morning after a sleepover, before I went home, Mel would inject himself with insulin. He would ask me where on his body he should do the injection and, if it wasn't someplace crazy like his eyeball or his face, he would jab the needle wherever I asked him to. I was always fascinated by this.

Mel's mom also supplied us with Little Debbie Swiss cake rolls, which now that I think about it, Mel seemed to eat without reservation. Those things weren't exactly sugar-free. Or maybe there was a sugar-free version?

All I know is, we would spent the evening drinking pop, downing those chocolate treats, and listening to the early 80s' New Wave music we both liked...Duran Duran, The Fixx, Flock of Seagulls, Men at Work, etc.

It was wonderful.

Terry and I still engage in sleepovers, only now they're always at our house and they involve my daughter Chloe and our grandson Cal.

Chloe will sometimes come and spend the night when my son-in-law Michael travels for work. Because we are so obsessed with her child, she gets a much-needed break from feeding, changing and generally caring for him. And we get to see our favorite little boy.

Everybody wins.

Unlike my childhood sleepovers, however, there is little to no soda consumed, and our overall sugar intake is considerably lower.

The music is still there, but it's limited to whatever tunes Cal's little infant gym will play.

And our bedtime nowadays is considerably earlier and entirely determined by Cal.

Other than that, the enjoyment factor is just as high, and I look forward to these sleepovers just as much as I looked forward to the ones four decades ago.

Probably more!

For a brief time before COVID hit, my family and I were Cleveland hockey celebrities...sort of

"Celebrities" is way too strong a word, but we did appear on the Rocket Mortgage Fieldhouse (now Rocket Arena) video board many times throughout the abbreviated 2019-20 and 2020-21 Cleveland Monsters hockey seasons.

We have been season ticket holders for the American Hockey League Monsters since the franchise was born in 2007. Which means we have seen lots and lots of hockey games together. In nearly 19 years as Monsters Hockey Club members, we have watched the team win one Calder Cup championship and several playoff games, and we've also seen them lose a heck of lot.

Through it all, as we point out in the video above, the real key for us has simply been the chance to be together. More specifically, the chance to be together two at a time, as we have just two seats in our account (club level, second row on the aisle, right at the red line...the absolute best seats in the house).

In the team's early years, I remember Jared and I attending postgame season ticket holder skating sessions in which the only people on the ice were team mascots Sully and the Mullet Brothers, in-game host Olivier Sedra, a few other fans, and us. And that was it.

Nowadays, the Monsters lead the AHL in attendance every year, drawing north of 10,000 fans for most games. They're a hot ticket here in Cleveland, largely because they're so affordable compared with the major league sports in town.

We were selected to make this promotional video because we were one of the "founding families" among season ticket holders, I guess. Whatever the reason, we had a blast doing it.

Chloe and Melanie weren't available for the video shoot in our living room. And as you can clearly see, poor Jack didn't much want to be part of it.

Every time it would appear on the arena "Humungotron," we would receive a stream of texts from friends and acquaintances at the games. "We just saw you on the video screen!!" "That was so cool!" "It was so much fun seeing you guys up there!"

The video was shot and edited in January/February 2020. Once March rolled around, of course, the pandemic changed everything. The 2019-20 season was cancelled, and the number of games the followed year was greatly limited as in-person events slowly returned.

Things got back to normal in 2021-22, and our video was played several more times, but by then the always creatively marketed Monsters had new content to show their fans, both in the arena and online.

Our video eventually ended up in their virtual scrap bin, which is fine. It had served its purpose.

Our relatively short stint as stars on the big screen was over. We have maintained our season tickets and our memories since then.

Now the one thing we would like is another Calder Cup championship, if it's not too much to ask.

A boy named Cal

 

One very cheap way to attract "likes," comments and all the other forms of social media validation on which bloggers thrive is to post photos like this one of my grandson Cal.

I am not above doing this.

Cal is 2 months old and I can't get enough of him. We make the drive down to his house in Akron whenever we have the chance, and we love when he's able to spend time here at Grammy and Grandpa's house.

Before Cal was born, I had lots of veteran grandparents tell me things like, "Just you wait. You're going to love that little guy in a way you can't even imagine. He's going to change your world."

And I would say to myself, "OK, yes, of course I'm going to love him."

But I didn't really understand how and how much I would love him. It's a dazzling new experience.

I've not been doing this grandparent thing very long, but from what I can tell so far, the love you have for a grandchild is very much like the love you have for your kids, but...somehow different. Not better or worse, just different. It's deep and profound in ways I couldn't have expected.

Some of that probably has to do with emotional family connections you make with your own mom and dad, and by extension your mother-in-law and father-in-law. I wish so much that Cal could have met any of his great-grandparents on our side, but it wasn't in the cards.

So I guess Terry and I have to love him even more to make up for their absence. Challenge accepted.

The running joke when it comes to grandparenthood is that you get all the benefits of being a parent and can simply hand them back at the end of the day.

Which I guess is true, but the reality is we never want to hand him back. We don't mind changing diapers, feeding him, or walking with him if he's fussy.

None of that feels like an imposition or a burden. It feels more like a privilege.

I know what Chloe and Michael, Cal's mom and dad, are going through right now. Having a baby takes a lot of time and energy, especially when you're juggling it with full-time work (in Michael's case) or navigating the application and interview process for medical school (in Chloe's case).

People will tell you that, despite the chaos, you're going to miss these days. And much like my semi-dismissal of friends and relatives who tried to describe to me the experience of being a grandparent, it's difficult to really grasp and appreciate what they're talking about in the moment.

But over time you learn. Just as I'm learning what an incredible blessing it is to be this little boy's grandpa. I can't even tell you how lucky we are.

The all-important issue of what you as a grandparent are going to be called

Cal and me

The most common question I received before and after my grandson Calvin was born three weeks ago was what exactly the little guy would call me.

My answer was always the same: "I don't know, and I mostly don't care. He can call me whatever he wants."

Within reason, of course.

The early favorite seems to be the straightforward "Grandpa." To our kids, my dad was "Grandpa Tennant" and Terry's dad was "Grandpa Ross," so the title is already ingrained into our family culture.

But nothing is set in stone, especially since the little guy is all of 21 days old and hasn't quite yet mastered the art of speech.

The people who will have the greatest influence on how Cal refers to his grandparents are his mom and dad, Chloe and Michael. Whatever they call us is very likely what he will call us.

Terry has lobbied to be known as "Grammy." Which is great, but again, unless Cal hears it a lot at home, it's not going to stick.

In any case, the list of potential grandparent names is certainly varied. For men, beyond Grandpa, I've also heard Gramps, Grampy, Grandad, Grandaddy, Grandpap, Papa, Papaw, Poppy, Opa, and the hilariously 21st-century "Granddude."

For women, there's Grandma, Grammy, Grams, Nana, Ga-Ga, Memaw, Mimi, Nanny, Nonna, and another hysterically modern and perhaps tongue-in-cheek selection: "Insta-gram."

Often we take on whatever name our grandchild calls us when he or she is a baby and just learning to talk. So far, in Calvin's case, the only sound he has made when looking at me involves a raspberry and copious amounts of spit.

Somehow, though, "Grandpa Brzzzzzttttfoooo" doesn't have much of a ring to it.

We're enjoying having a college kid in the family again

Jack on his first day of college

The recent birth of our grandson has somewhat overshadowed another significant family milestone, which is the fact that our youngest son, Jack, started college a couple of weeks ago.

Jack is a freshman data science major at Cleveland State University. He's a little older than the typical freshman at 19 1/2, the result of a two-year process of trying to figure out exactly what he wanted to do in life.

Lots of young people go through the same extended period of self-reflection that Jack did, and I'm surprised it's not even more common. Asking 17- and 18-year-olds to pinpoint exactly what career path they're going to follow is a tall order, especially in a world that changes as rapidly as ours.

Since graduating high school in 2023, Jack has had a brief fling with community college, considered a career in the trades, and worked full time for nearly a year cleaning cages in an animal research laboratory.

Eventually he came to Terry and me and said he thought it would be best to go to college and earn a bachelor's degree of some sort. He is interested in statistics and data analysis – a field that will surely be reshaped by the emergence of artificial intelligence – so data science it is.

Starting in 2012 when Elissa began her own four-year journey at Cleveland State, we had a kid or kids in college continuously for 11 years. For me as Dad, it was a blur of FAFSA forms, dorm move-ins, and essays to edit.

Now, after a two-year break, I'm excited to get back into that world.

Like me so many years ago, Jack is a college commuter. He lives at home and drives downtown five days a week to attend class. There are advantages to doing that (particularly financial ones), but it can also mean being somewhat disengaged from school activities outside of the classroom.

I made an effort to be involved in the band and the school newspaper when I was at John Carroll University, at least until the demands of a nearly full-time work schedule at The News-Herald made those extracurriculars impossible. Jack has talked about joining the CSU pep band, and I hope he does. It would be good for him.

You know, becoming a grandparent can make you feel old. But I'm finding that once again having a college kid in the family balances that out. It makes Terry and I realize we're still very much in our primes.

Good luck to Jack, and go Vikings!

Introducing Calvin: The Official Grandchild™ of "5 Kids, 1 Wife"

 

The handsome young gentleman pictured above is Calvin, my grandson. He is two days old and the first grandchild with which Terry and I have been blessed.

We are, naturally, smitten.

Little Cal made his mother Chloe (our daughter) work hard through her first labor and delivery. She went into the hospital at 8am Sunday to be induced, the result of high blood pressure readings that prompted her care team to take Calvin from the relative warmth and comfort of the womb three weeks before his official due date.

It took nearly 23 hours for Cal to make his entrance, ultimately via an unplanned C-section. Despite the best contraction-inducing drugs and techniques modern medicine could offer – along with 3 1/2 hours of exhausting, heroic, middle-of-the-night pushing on Chloe's part – the little guy simply wouldn't come out.

This was largely because of his big head, an anatomical feature I will freely admit he inherited from his maternal grandfather.

So C-section it was. He came into the world at 6:43am on Monday, measuring 21 inches in length and weighing 8 pounds, 7 ounces.

Let me say two things about his weight:

• Terry, Melanie, Jack and I were sitting around the fire pit in our backyard Sunday night taking guesses as to what Cal's birth weight would be. One person was spot on with his guess. I will not tell you who that was, except to say it was me.
  
  
• If Chloe's pregnancy had gone the full 40 weeks, using the very general rule of thumb that babies gain a half pound a week in the final days of pregnancy, he would have been pushing 10 pounds just like his uncles Jared (9 pounds, 15 ounces) and Jack (9 pounds, 13 ounces) did.

Calvin has needed a little help breathing, which is why he has spent the first few days of his life in the neonatal intensive care unit (NICU). This is common in babies born even as late as 37 weeks – especially boys, for whatever reason – so there was no cause for alarm.

As for Chloe, in addition to the normal fatigue of labor, she also developed an infection that resulted in a fever, AND she hemorrhaged a bit after the C-section.

Give that woman a medal. Give every women who has a baby a medal, as far as I'm concerned.

And give her husband Michael a medal for keeping her going and supporting her through the whole ordeal.

When Terry and I got to the hospital about eight hours after Cal was born, I saw this wooden disc resting on Chloe's bedside tray:

Until that moment, while we knew Chloe was having a boy, we didn't know his name. That was the one thing Chloe and Michael had kept secret from the rest of the world, which I thought was perfectly fine. It was only fitting that Mom and Dad had at least one surprise to reveal.

It took me a minute to register exactly what the information on the little wooden circle meant. Then I realized not only that our first grandchild's name would be Calvin, but also that his middle name would be Scott.

It made for an emotional moment. It was all I could do to keep from breaking down and crying right then and there. What an honor it is for your grandbaby to share your name. It's something for which I'll always be grateful to Chloe and Michael.

I have a feeling I'll be grateful for a whole lot of things as Baby Calvin grows up.

When your kid is expecting, your perspective changes in unexpected ways

This is one of those 4D ultrasound images. Taken last month, it shows my grandson at around 30 weeks gestation. Ain't he handsome?

For years, my kids were vocal about their desire to add a pool and a trampoline to our backyard.

My answer was a consistent "no, not happening." Setting aside the financial outlay, I was simply too lazy to mow around more obstacles, and I wasn't interested in taking over the ongoing maintenance a pool requires.

As the kids moved out, the pool and trampoline discussion subsided.

Until one day earlier this summer when Terry and I were sitting on the deck and she matter-of-factly raised the question of where in our backyard we would put an above-ground pool. I reflexively expressed my reservations, at which point Terry played what has become the ultimate trump card.

"Our grandson will love coming to our house even more if he has a pool to play in," she said.

I stopped cold. Chloe hadn't even birthed this little boy, our first grandchild, and already he was coloring the way I saw the world.

And for the first time ever, I was open to the idea of becoming a pool owner.

I love my five kids. They're all great. But why was I suddenly OK with a pool for a baby I haven't even met after years of not being OK with it when my own children would ask?

Practical reasons, for one thing. I no longer cut our grass, so mowing around a pool becomes a problem (admittedly a very slight one) only for Nick, our lawn guy. Plus, honestly, we're simply in a better financial situation now than we ever were when the kids were little.

There's also the ever-present and powerful desire to spoil our grandson and make Grandma and Grandpa's house the fun place to be.

The point is, I can't believe how attractive the idea of a pool suddenly sounds after years of resisting it.

As far as a trampoline goes, that request will have to come from the grandbaby himself. If he wants one, we'll look into it.

Why do I get the feeling that all of his adult aunts and uncles on our side of the family will be whispering in his ear to ask for that trampoline in a few years?

I know almost nothing about plants other than the fact that Japanese knotweed is evil

My wife is a gardener and somewhat of a flower/plant expert. Well, "expert" when compared with me, anyway.

I have little knowledge and even less interest in all things botanical. When it comes to the greenery in our yard, I care only about the grass getting cut and potentially hazardous tree branches being trimmed.

The rest is Terry's domain.

Over the years, she has done the majority of weed pulling and flower tending, and she is a saint for it. The kids have gotten involved sometimes, and I'm out there whenever she needs a little extra muscle or simply cannot take bending over to pull out stray thistles and morning glory vines anymore.

We've spent considerable time in the flower beds this summer removing unwanted green things, some of which were quite obviously weeds even to a novice like me, and others of which I would have just assumed were desirable plants but in fact were also weeds.

An example of the latter is Japanese knotweed, a plant that has been growing freely in our backyard bed. It's the one in the photo at the top of today's post.

I thought it looked kind of nice, but do a little reading on Japanese knotweed and you'll find it to be the very definition of "invasive."

For one thing, it's roots run deep and strong. We're talking roots that go down 30 feet or more. To the point that they can break through concrete, choke out native plants, and do a heck of a number on backyard ecosystems.

You can pull it up – and we did – but it's almost certainly going to come back in time.

I only learned all of his about Japanese knotweed from my daughter Elissa, who gave us the details about the demon plant infesting our backyard after I identified it using the highly useful Google Lens app.

We removed enough Japanese knotweed to make the backyard look nice for my daughter Chloe's baby shower this Saturday. We will, however, inevitably have to deal with it again, and soon.

This is one reason I can't stand pulling weeds. It's a never-ending job, and it seldom feels like you're really getting anywhere.

On the other hand, I do have some appreciation for the beautiful flowers Terry has planted around our yard. They look nice, but I never know what each one is called.

I can point out marigolds and black-eyed Susans when I see them, but beyond that, I tend to be lost.

That's why I made up a fake/generic name for any plant or flower I can't identify. One time Terry saw a plant she wasn't sure about, so I confidently told her, "Oh, those are Jupiter Polkas."

She looked at me strangely, as this would have been the first time I've ever known the name of a plant she didn't. After a half-second of bewilderment, though, she realized I was just making stuff up.

Which is what I do 99% of the time. I seldom really know what I'm doing or what's going on, so I just make stuff up. You would be shocked how well this approach to life works.

In fact, let that be your takeaway from today's post: If someone asks you to identify a plant, flower, shrub or tree, just tell them it's a Jupiter Polka. And say it with conviction.

If it's not Terry you're talking to, they'll be so impressed, trust me.

Sometimes it feels like your kids match their chronological age and sometimes it doesn't

Tomorrow our son Jared turns 27, which feels about right.

What I mean is that, yes, instinctively I think of Jared as someone in his later mid-20s. Or early late 20s. However you want to say it.

He's well established in his career, he has a wonderful fiancée we all love, and he's a responsible adult of the sort you expect your kid to be at this age.

Our other kids are also doing well for themselves, but with Elissa, for instance, I still can't believe she's 31. I can't believe she's 30-anything.

Maybe it's because she's the only one of our kids who has crossed that three-decade age barrier, but man, I have a hard time equating 4-year-old Elissa (who by my reckoning was part of our lives as recently as last year) with successful, mature 31-year-old Elissa.

It just doesn't seem possible.

And Chloe? Same thing. She's 28, married, and on the verge of becoming a mother. But to me she's "Little Chloe," which is how she would refer to herself when she was of preschool age. "Little Chloe, coming through!" is something she used to say that Terry and I reminisce about often.

Don't even get me started on Melanie and Jack. They're doing adult things now but simply shouldn't be. Maybe I've tried to hold onto their youth too long simply because they're our two youngest children, I don't know.

But yeah, Jared turning 27 feels about right. I've often called him "the hardest working man in sports communications" and I still think that's true. He puts in a lot of time and effort on behalf of his employer, the Tampa Bay Rays, a sure sign he has made significant progress since he was a hard-working but somewhat disorganized high school student 10 short years ago.

It's baseball season, so Jared is of course hard at work. He can't be in Ohio celebrating with us, but we'll at least grab him for a quick phone conversation tomorrow, I'm sure.

Happy 27th birthday to our oldest son and a man who fits his age.

When people start giving you stuff like this, grandparenthood suddenly gets real

Last month I was in the grocery store and ran into Jenny, a high school classmate and track teammate of mine. We were chatting and updating each other on our lives (as one does while standing in the produce section) when I mentioned that Chloe was due with our first grandchild in mid-September.

Jenny, a grandmother herself, lit up.

"Oh," she said, "it's amazing. You have no idea how much you can love a grandchild until they're actually here. You hear about it and agree that of course you'll love that little one, but you don't really understand until you hold them."

I've heard lots of people say things like that, and it makes me even more excited than I already am to become a grandpa.

That word "grandpa", by the way, sounds much older to me than "grandfather" goes. Your grandpa has white hair and walks with a cane. Your grandfather has salt-and-pepper hair and plenty of energy to play with you.

It's all semantics, of course, and as I've said, I really don't care what this little boy calls me. I just can't wait to meet him.

This year for Father's Day, Chloe gave me a bag of Starbucks coffee (she knows me well) and the mug pictured above. When your Father's Day presents become more like Grandfather's Day presents, you know you're entering a new phase in your life.

Well, the grandparent phase, of course, but also the phase when I will only drink out of coffee mugs 10 ounces or larger. I have no time for those useless little 8-ounce teacups...

This old house: Where we sleep, eat, and pile up memories

Later this month, we will celebrate having lived in our house for 22 years.

We moved in on July 19, 2003. I remember the exact date because...well, because I remember dates like that. There are vast expanses of my brain crammed with dates and details I really don't need taking up space perhaps better filled by more practical information.

I also remember that day because it was my friend Kevin's birthday, and while he has nothing to do with this story, I still equate move-in day with Kev's birthday.

Anyway, 22 years is in some ways a long time and in others not so long at all. My mom lived in her house on Harding Drive for 56 years. And I know lots and lots of people who have been in their homes nearly that long.

Still, it feels like Terry, the kids, and I have always been here at 30025 Miller Avenue. When we took occupancy of the house, Elissa was 9, Chloe was 6, Jared was a few weeks away from turning 5, and little Melanie was still two months from turning 3.

Jack wasn't even a thought yet.

The house has hosted graduation parties, countless birthday celebrations, our 25th anniversary shindig back in 2017, and a whole lot of visits and sleepovers involving family and friends.

I've cut the grass 8 million times (or so it feels). And I think Terry has pulled an even higher number of weeds from the flower beds.

It's the house to which we brought Jack when he was born in 2006. It's the place where we watched all of the kids grow up.

And for now, it's the place where Terry and I intend to spend at least a few more years, if not several.

When you're in your mid-50s and still able to get around well, you don't often think about stairs, for example, being much of an issue. But in 20 or 30 years, if we're still in the house, they very well could be. We have both an upstairs and a basement, and we travel between them regularly.

Interestingly, by the end of this year, our current house will be the place where I've lived the longest in my life. I spent the first 22 years and 4 months of my existence living on Harding Drive before Terry and I bought our first house in 1992.

It gets to a point that even if you decide you want to sell your home, you can't imagine anyone else living there after you. I still feel that way about the place on East 300th Street where Terry and I spent the first 11 years of our marriage. Three different families have lived there in the two decades since we moved out, but part of me still thinks of that house as ours and the others as just renters.

In the end, there's an obvious difference between a house (essentially a container for your stuff) and a home (a place where you always feel warm, welcome, and safe).

I would like to think we've created a nice little home on the southern edge of Wickliffe over 22 years filled with love, light and fond memories.

We're going to have a wedding in the family

 

Recently my son Jared proposed to his longtime girlfriend Lyndsey, and she said yes.

None of this was a surprise to us. It was eventually going to happen and was just a matter of when.

Lyndsey and Jared have been together for nearly eight years. They went to the same high school but didn't become a couple until the summer after graduation. As I often say, she is as much a member of our family as any of our kids, as Elissa's boyfriend Mark, or as Chloe's husband Michael.

Now it becomes legal.

Whenever this wedding occurs, it will be the first involving one of our kids. Chloe and Michael have been hitched for 5 1/2 years, but they never had an actual wedding (though not for lack of trying).

They were married by a judge back in October 2019, in part because Chloe was beginning her academic research career and wanted to change her name before she began publishing. This was to maintain consistency and avoid any confusion further down the line.

Their plan was to have a formal wedding in June 2020, but you might remember a little pandemic that popped up a few months prior to that, causing them to push the wedding to October 2020.

That little pandemic refused to cooperate, though, and eventually their wedding was cancelled altogether.

So Jared and Lyndsey's big day will be Terry's and my first time as parents of the groom/bride.

As I write this, we don't yet have a date or a location for that wedding. But whenever it is, it's going to be quite the shindig, I'm sure. These kids have a large army of family and friends who love them and want to be there when they tie the knot.

I can't wait. It's not often I get to show off my Hokey Pokey AND Chicken Dance skills in the same night.

Q&A with the Kids - Part II - Chloe

(NOTE: You always hear from me, so I thought it might be fun to hear from the kids for a change. Today we chat with our 28-year-old daughter Chloe. Dr. Chloe Edmonds, to be precise. She earned her PhD last summer, and she and her husband Michael are expecting their first child in September. Oh, and she also plans to go to medical school. Makes me tired just thinking about it...)

What was the best thing about growing up in a big family?

I think the best thing was always having someone to play with. It was never lonely growing up with so many siblings. Plus, each sibling relationship is so different based upon gender combinations and age differences, so we had a lot of unique relationships.

What things didn't you like about it?

Being #2 of 5 kids can mean some responsibilities that you didn't sign up for. I never resented my little siblings! But you do take on a bit more of a parent role as you move up in the birth order.

What are your favorite memories of things we did as a family?

I loved the "stay-cations" we took, especially when we went to all of the parks in Wickliffe. These were a lot less stressful than full-on vacations, but they still had the full extent of family bonding and fun.

What is something you wish you could have done or had growing up, but you couldn't because you had four siblings?

I think there were times when we had a little less money than Mom/Dad would have liked, and that can possibly be traced back to the number of kids. This meant we didn't get name brand clothes or shoes unless they were hand-me-downs. And when you're in middle school, this seems very important! In hindsight it's not a big deal, but I do remember getting tired of hand-me-downs pretty early on. Also I always wanted a trampoline, but I do not know if we never got one due to our financial situation or other factors, haha! (EDITOR'S NOTE: Other factors. I was too lazy to mow around a trampoline.)

That's Chloe operating on a pig...really.

Do you want kids of your own? Why or why not?

I sure hope so, considering we have one on the way! I think we want 2-3 kids total, but who knows? Michael and I both grew up in families with 4+ kids, and while we had good experiences, we personally think a medium-sized family would be ideal for us.

What was your favorite thing Mom used to make for dinner? Do you ever make it for yourself?

I had all sorts of favorites. One in particular was beef stroganoff. I don't cook super often these days, but beef stroganoff is still a popular one in our household. I also loved her lasagna, but truthfully I've never been brave enough to try cooking that one.

Here's what I'm doing to prepare to become a grandfather

Nothing. I'm doing nothing.

Don't get me wrong, I'm very excited my daughter Chloe is due to give birth to our first grandchild in 4 1/2 months.

It's just that, in the grand scheme of things (haha, "grand"), Grandpa is the most fun and easiest job ever. My assignment, once this little one is born, will be to love him, play with him, and teach him stuff.

I can absolutely do that. All of it. Bring it on.

There's no manual to read in advance. I don't have to strip wallpaper and paint nursery walls like Terry and I did back in the 90s when we started having kids. And speaking of Terry, she is already in the process of preparing our house for a baby. My input there is minimal.

The only thing I have to do as Grandpa is to avoid doing the one thing my own dad, an otherwise outstanding grandfather, did when Elissa was a toddler.

Elissa was at my parents' house eating lunch, I think. Terry was there, too, and specifically said Elissa couldn't have any potato chips until she ate some of her healthier food.

But my dad – always one to spoil his grandchildren – gave Elissa those chips anyway. Just handed her the can of Pringles, right there in front of her mother.

Terry fumes about it to this day.

Note to self: If Chloe says the child cannot have or do something, no matter how much I want to spoil him, honor his mother's wishes.

Unless I want her holding a grudge against me 30 years later.