Jake and his Papa

"What's your motto these days: 'I'm going to have fun, even if it kills me?' You've been out of he hospital barely a month now, and you've got to slow down," I scolded Jimmy. My scolding is always directly proportional to my worry, and I was worried.

Jimmy was so exhausted Sunday when we got home from the beach that he slept over twenty out of the next twenty-four hours, literally, and was too tired to eat. After I nagged him to eat a little something, he complied, but ten minutes later, he upchucked his whole breakfast. He'd worn himself down to a nub, and his whole system was in revolt.

He's recovering, slowly, but I do wish he'd pace himself a little better. If he keeps this up, it'll be one step forward and two steps back. He did have a wonderful time, being at the beach with the grandchildren though, and says he'd gladly do it all over again.

The grandfather-itis bug has bitten Jimmy with a vengeance, and he (actually, we) are so smitten with these three babies that we fear we have fallen into the category of insipid grandparents who get so goo-goo and ga-ga over their little angels that their friends all run for cover until a more palatable form of sanity returns.

It goes without saying that they are the most beautiful, most intelligent, charming, adorable children in the world. Jake, the younger boy, the almost-two-year-old, who looks and acts just like Jimmy, has become completely infatuated with his grandfather. Everything is "Papa! Papa! Papa!" He follows Jimmy around and wants his undivided attention, and when he can't find him, it's "Where's Papa? Where's Papa? Where's Papa?" He climbs all over him, showering him with hugs and kisses, and of course, Jimmy loves it.