I ain't sharing nothing!

Older brother Ben was happy to see new little sister Ryleigh ... but one-year-old Paige, wasn’t so sure about the new living arrangements in the Wilson home.

Today is my 36th wedding anniversary. This is proof I did not forget the date, which, at least from what I always understood, is the one date a husband should never forget. I will admit, however, there is much more involved in a successful marriage than simply remembering a date. I’ve learned a lot in 36 years.

I can still remember the day I stood in front of my wife’s parents and asked them if it would be okay with them if I moved their middle daughter four hours south of Bryan.

I don’t know if that tradition is even practiced anymore, but I do know its importance was passed down to my daughters, who in turn discussed that “rite of passage” to their boyfriends.

My oldest daughter’s husband was a bit nervous when he asked if I could meet him at Frank’s Restaurant in Schulenburg. There was only one reason why a man who was dating one of my daughters would want to meet privately with me.

My youngest daughter’s husband, a few years later (reminded by my oldest daughter’s husband that it would probably be a good idea to talk to me before giving her a ring), ran by our house a couple of days before he planned to propose.

Those two marriages have given us six grandchildren … as of Thanksgiving Day.

Oldest daughter Alyssa and her husband Doug brought precious little Ryleigh Grace home from the hospital Saturday morning.

My wife had been at their home since the previous Saturday to do her thing (i.e – take care of big brother and big sister) whenever Ryleigh decided to make her grand entrance.

Of course, “the plan” was that Ryleigh would be born early in the week, but after my wife arrived.

Talk about making God laugh. He let everyone involved know He still runs this show.

As the week dragged on our daughter realized “the plan” to have the baby and be back home and settled in, just in time for a beautiful Thanksgiving meal, wasn’t going to happen.

I made the drive to Frisco last Wednesday after putting out the weekend edition, arriving about 1 a.m. Thanksgiving Day.

My daughter welcomed me soon after entering their home.

I had parked in their driveway, in the only space available, knowing it was behind the vehicle they would be using to make their hospital run. I asked her if she wanted me to park out of the way, in the cul-de-sac. Her response was, “Dad, this baby isn’t coming tonight.”

Four hours later my daughter and her husband were off to the hospital … right after my car was moved!

Our healthy granddaughter will forever be known as our Turkey Day grandkid in the year of COVID. My daughter calls her their “butterball”.

There were several other changes in plans made for me prior to my drive to Frisco, which at the time didn’t fit well in my schedule.

Once again, the Man upstairs was probably enjoying yet another belly laugh, knowing those unwelcomed changes would cause events that occurred later in the week to work out better.

Remember the Thanksgiving meal I referred to earlier? Instead of Nani and Poppie joining the Wilson clan and their newborn at the table … it was Nani and Poppie, a six-year-old and a one-year-old scarfing down their first Turducken – a chicken inside a duck inside a turkey, with Cajun stuffing between layers.

Needless to say, there were plenty of leftovers. My daughter is probably more than happy to have that cooked food in the fridge ready to eat.

Another joy of learning about the birth of another grandchild is telling our parents they have another healthy great grandchild. My parents, at 90 years of age, now have 11 great grandchildren. My mother-in-law, at 84, has seven greats.

Thanksgiving week was a whirlwind, and it doesn’t look like the pace is going to slow down until Christmas is in the rearview mirror.

We finally pulled back into our driveway Sunday afternoon. That night, as I was falling asleep, I smiled, knowing I had been granted another subtle reminder I don’t control most things that happen.

Until next week, have a good week.

Mike Probst can be reached at publisher@rockportpilot.com.

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