I once knew two women whose husbands were brothers and, on the first weekend of each month, the two families and the husbands’ parents would take turns working at one of the young couples’ homes or that of the parents. Young cousins played while older cousins, aunts, uncles and grandparents either worked on a project or helped cook meals for everyone.
I easily imagined one day doing the same with my own sons when they were grown.
The primary job of parents, however, is to raise children who will fledge and become self-sufficient adults who pursue their own aspirations, not those of their parents, wherever that may take them. My first two children left Ohio to pursue college degrees in the arts, while my third child went to Columbus, where they changed majors at OSU multiple times.
During COVID, all my children returned to Akron. For several months, marked more by camaraderie than lockdown stress, we again all lived together. Then, one by one, they resumed their journeys in life. My eldest went to Texas for graduate school, after which he took a job in D.C. My second son followed his girlfriend west, eventually settling in Wisconsin, while my third child left for Columbus and many other places.
But in my heart, I not-so-secretly hoped that, like so many people raised in Akron, when my children had children of their own, they would return home. For a few months last year, my deepest wish looked as though it would come true. While visiting to help with projects at my home, my son Hugo and his wife, Claudia, announced they were expecting a baby and also looking for work in Northeast Ohio. I immediately cried.
“Would you rather win the lottery,” my fourth and youngest son asked me, “or have Hugo and Claudia move back?”
“No contest. Have them move home,” I replied.
I’m sad to confirm that the reports of a flat job market − low firing rates coupled with low hiring rates − are all too true. After many months of job hunting, my son and daughter-in-law didn’t find jobs, or even any promising leads, in Northeast Ohio. And so, with an incoming baby and other good reasons to move out of their apartment, the couple bought a house in Wisconsin.
Just weeks before the baby’s due date, I stayed with Hugo and Claudia in their new home and worked with my son in a yard that’s all his. Because the housing market is incredibly tight in Madison (the world headquarters of Epic, a medical software company), the previous owners had done little to spruce up the place, which had been a rental, before putting it on the market.
Like the descendants of farmers that we are, Hugo and I grabbed shovels and started digging. We tore out an overgrown, trash-collecting privet bush, pulled up yards of sprouting fat roots from a tree that no longer exists and planted hydrangea bushes.
The work was deeply satisfying, but there was too much to accomplish in just one visit, including the removal of an overwhelming number of old bush stumps. I therefore proposed that our family descend upon the young couple July Fourth weekend. The baby would be about a month old, everyone would have holiday time off from work and, with four healthy men working together, a landscaped yard was within reach.
On July 2, my eldest son flew to Madison from D.C., while my youngest two children, their father, Max (my ex, but still family), and I arrived in a minivan loaded with goodies for our family’s new star.
For weeks beforehand, my daughter, Lyra, excitedly talked about going to Madison to see “Baby Florence.” If we’d have let her, Lyra would have held her niece all weekend, but she was up against a deep bench of stiff competition. None of us checked into the hotel until we had first met and held our wee, sweet Flora, as her parents call her.
The next morning, Max and my eldest son left the hotel at 6 a.m. to rent a stump grinder. Then, while I cooked a 14-egg frittata in a pan on the stove and sausages in the oven, the men began the yard’s transformation. For three days and four nights, we worked hard, cooked often and played several rounds of euchre.
The main ingredient in the recipe for a healthy family is showing up.
My grandchild may live farther away than I prefer, but our family remains close, held by bonds that are reinforced each time we pull together, which is harder to arrange and happens less frequently than if everyone lived in Northeast Ohio. But the extra effort is well worth it.
This column was first published in the Akron Beacon Journal on Sunday, July 19, 2026.
Whoopsie Piggle 