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When I was little, one of my favourite things to do was mini vacations at my grandparents’. They still lived in the same small-town, in the same apartment where my mother grew up and more than anything else, this is where I connected to my family history. The relatives on my father’s side were more distant, both geographically and emotionally, and besides, my mother’s family told stories – stories of themselves and of the people who made up our family in the past and whether living or dead, they were all equally vivid. When I visited my mormor and morfar, my favourite thing to do within this favourite thing was go to the cemetery with my mormor to take care of the graves of the family members who were with us in spirit only. We’d clean up the gravesite, trim the little hedge around it, put water in the vases, neatly arrange the new flowers and through it all, my grandmother would tell me about my family and I loved hearing the stories over and over again. Afterwards, we’d go feed the ducks at the castle lake. Somehow, it is always summer in those memories.

It wasn’t so long ago that I was trying to wrap my head around the idea that our little Canadian branch of the clan wouldn’t include children. I’ve yet to find someone that I’d want to have children with and my sister, although lucky enough to have found the father of her children, had fertility issues. But then, with much determination and a little help from a petri dish, Janne and John conceived the Tinks and two years ago today, they came into the world and brought much joy with them. Already, many of our family stories include the Tinks – there’s the Story of the Name that started it all (I’ll leave it to a TinkParent to remind you in the comments), the story of how the internet created a minor cult (Tink Freaks, anyone?) and every day, the wee darlings make something new happen. And every time I see them, it’s like summer.

Someday soon, we’ll start telling them about the people who came before on both continents and someday, I’ll take them to feed the ducks. Or get tattoos.

Happy second birthday, my lovies!

(The Tinks in their birthday present – a new playhouse. Photo by a TinkParent)