Day #117 Writing Through COVID-19: We Welcome Wolf

I'd like to introduce William Wolf Hoegh, 7 lbs. 11 oz., our family's first New Zealand citizen.

William Wolf Hoegh

Wolf arrived a bit before midnight Iowa time, a bit before 5 p.m. in Taranaki. His parents are "besotted," says his Irish mother--as is his extended multi-continent family. 

William is the name that has been passed down to the men in Andrea's family for five generations. Like the Williams who have preceded him, he will go by his second name. "Wolf" comes from the Harland and Wolff Ship Builders of Belfast, where Andrea grew up. (Yup, they built the Titanic.)

The H&W cranes are a dominant skyline feature in Belfast.

Max and Andrea dropped the second "f" from "Wolff" because they liked the canine version. It suits their dog-happy family. This evening while talking to Dan, I called the baby Hawk by accident. At least I didn't call him Shark.

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This evening I was able to video chat with Andrea through WhatsApp. I was driving home from Hy-Vee when she called, and I pulled into a farmer's lane to "meet" my grandson.

Wolf smiles at me (okay, he was sleeping) in our first WhatsApp video chat.

I am so grateful for the technology that lets me have these "almost there" moments. I'm grateful for my blog readers who indulge my need to revel in this experience. 

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Meanwhile in my basement: My parents' adjustment BACK to my home is much smoother than their initial move here four months ago. It's funny how the asparagus patch, the mailbox, and their living space now give them their bearings and a sense of normalcy, when only 100 days ago these same things exacerbated their confusion.

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This morning when I brought down their English muffins, my mother had the table set with full place settings. I had to break it to her that we do breakfast lite on Eagle Avenue: cereal or a bagel, yogurt if you please. The waffles and aebleskiver buffets are served in Newton. She laughed and assured me cereal was fine. 

But she did have one concern: Where did all her silverware go? 

I'm sorry I keep writing about silverware. I'm sorry my mother keeps obsessing about silverware. My latest theory is that she has opened the silverware drawer in her kitchen hundreds of thousands of times in her life. The drawer was always large-family full. Even when her kitchen was shrunken to kitchenette a year ago when they moved to a higher level of care at Friendship Haven, she still kept enough utensils to feed a family of seven. 

I explained (again) that I would make sure she had enough silverware to set her table for each meal. She nodded.

But minutes later she was ready to clarify her need: "If you have enough, could I have silverware for four place settings? This way I'll have enough if we have company. Or if I can't do the dishes right after the meal because I'm busy."

I did not tell her I am the only company she has, and I eat upstairs with Dan.

I did not tell her she has nothing on her calendar, nothing she has to do. Sheis the poster child for "not busy."

Instead, I said said, "Absolutely."

And then I went upstairs and did what I said I'd do weeks ago: I pulled out a box of utensils I never use (why hadn't I sent them to GoodWill? We'll save that for another day--) and procured my mother's requested utensils. 

I brought them to the basement (casually, jauntily) and left them in my mother's dishwashing basin. 

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I'm not sure if the silverware battle was lost or won. But it's over. I think.

Enough.

Be well.

Write.

Allison