I’m not often one short of language, but I’ve neglected this blog for months waiting for the right, best words to express my wonder at what a grandchild brings. Still no best words, odd for one others might even call glib. Nevertheless, and, with apologies for my narrative inadequacies in this case, it’s time to try. Avery Anne was born on Veterans’ Day just over three months ago, and I’ve been totally smitten since. Lindsay, my daughter, has been transformed into “Avery’s mother.” Joe, my son-in-law, has been demoted as he put it this weekend to “Avery’s transportation manager.” It’s not that we love Lindsay and Joe any less, it’s simply that we’ve discovered a love so new, so compelling, so full of unlimited promise and unfettered joy, that all else steps back to allow this glow. So now, we have a cradle in one of the guest bedrooms, a growing array of toys, and a soon to be overflowing basket of Good Night, Moon and its family of children’s books. I’m called back to when the cradle was for Marissa and Lindsay, when we built towers of blocks, and when we snuggled with them to read and “find the mouse” on each page. And I’m drawn forward to when Avery will read the books to us, work with me to build the puzzles, and bait her own hook!