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My boys are on a road trip.  Yep, they took off for Phoenix via Las Vegas on Friday.  And they are having the best time.  I have talked to both of them on numerous occasions, and though I am missed (particularly by Patrick) I have heard wonderful stories of the 2:00am walk around Circus Circus in Vegas, the cute waitresses at the sports bar in Phoenix (that gave my son a free ice cream sundae because he is “SO CUTE!!!!”) and the meltdown at the mall getting off of the carousel.

And I miss them terribly.  Last night, my husband called as Patrick was crying for me, wanting to go home. My heart sank, knowing that I couldn’t be there to give him the hugs and kisses he needed before drifting off to sleep. So, I did the next best thing – I sang.  Every song that I know.  We covered ABCs, spiders going up and down the water spout, stars twinkling, along with his favorite made up tunes-”Baby, baby, baby, baby boy! (then laughing)”, “Patrick went pee pee on the potty”, and of course, the one, the only, the original, “Butt Paste”.  And, to my delight, he calmed down, stopped crying, and according to my husband, fell asleep seconds after we hung up the phone.  My husband and I said our good nights quickly and he told me, ”I need to hang up so I can be here for Patrick.”  It is true…he is the best dad in the universe.  I smiled myself to sleep.

This morning, all was fine again.  But another night in Las Vegas tonight makes me think I’d better warm up my singing voice come bedtime…

Labor Day means so many things: the “unofficial” end of summer, an extra day off as a “reward” for all of the overtime and stress your daily job entails, barbeques, sunshine, and lots of TRAFFIC.

But for me, as Labor Day rolls around, I am always reminded of my grandpa, and the year that we painted the fence.  It was supposed to be a Labor Day like all others – visiting Grandma and Grandpa’s house, eating barbeque, running though the sprinklers and goofing around with the cousins. Gramps, however, had other plans.  He decided that this Labor Day, his grandkids would…paint the fence.  You should have seen our shocked faces when we were given the dreaded news – we, the four of us, two boys, two girls, would be WORKING?  On Labor Day?

“But it’s LABOR DAY!”  we complained to deaf ears.  “No one should LABOR on Labor Day!”  And then, with the guiding eyes of my grandfather upon us, we picked up our brushes and painted.  And painted.  And painted.  We painted the fence.  We (oops) painted the grass.  And we (accidentally on purpose) painted each other.  My grandma joked that we had more paint on us than that fence did.

We still ate barbeque.  We still rinsed ourselves off with the hose.  We were still hanging out with our cousins.  And we made grandpa happy.

These days, I’ll bet very few kids are painting fences today.  Many of them are inside playing video games instead.  Maybe the world needs more grandpas like mine – a grandpa who commanded attention, who didn’t really ask, but told.  Usually with a smile and sometimes, a wink. 

We learned how to paint fences that day, but we also learned what it takes to make a positive contribution to your family.  Maybe someday my dad will ask Patrick to mow the lawn, or take out the garbage, or even paint a fence.  And he’ll remember Labor Day as I do  – not as a day off, but as a reminder of family.

Miss you Gramps.