Watching T play with these things that meant so much to me as a kid has been surprisingly gratifying. Being we moved so much I can't share physical locations from my youth with him. My parents are on their 7th home since I last lived with them. It's very different when we visit Z's folks. We stay in the room he occupied in high school. They moved into their home more than 30 years ago. There are memories around every corner and I'm glad that T will be able to match the stories of his dad to the home we often visit.
This morning I was in the kitchen when I heard T climb upstairs. It sounded like he was playing in his bedroom, but the other bedroom doors were open and I didn't love the idea of him being alone up there unsupervised for long. So I dragged my huge pregnant butt up the stairs. It seemed suspiciously quiet on the second floor so I hurried to his room and found this:
My grandparents had that blue chair reupholstered for me when I was a baby. It had belonged to my mother when she was a girl. And now it is T's. We hope to have it reupholstered for him sometime soon using leftover fabric from a chair we had recovered that belonged to Z's great grandfather. I love seeing him sitting in it. My family is pretty far flung (although thankfully the days of me being the only one that actually lives in USA are over) so it's one of the most tangible ways for me to feel his connection to our history.