When I was younger, I (and my sister and two cousins) would go to church with my grandparents. I would try to always sit next to my grandpa because he kept me entertained during Mass. Whether it was playing tic-tac-toe on the bulletin, giving me "candy" which were really his breath mints he used to keep in his pocket, or playing with his ring. Yes, his wedding ring. I would take it off his finger and try to see if it fit on any of mine. I would examine it completely. And my favorite of all, was to twirl it on his finger. (I always have loved how a wedding band looks on a man's hand. Especially hard working hands. A diamond in the rough, if you will.)
So this day, when I was at home with my babies doing nothing imparticular Nicolas sat down in front of me and grabbed my hand. My left hand. And what he started doing next brought tears to my eyes. He was twirling my ring. Memories flooded my mind of a time when I was the child facisnated with something I didn't quite understand the meaning of. And now, I'm the adult witnessing that same fascination. This time from my son. Who just happens to be named after my grandpa..
I don't want to forget this..
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