Our first grandchild, Persephone Marie Valenty, was born August 26 at 5:46 a.m. in a hospital in St. Louis Park, Minn. She was eight pounds, 13 ounces and was 22 inches long. She has lovely dark brown hair.

Mom, dad and granddaughter are all home and doing fine.

I must admit that this column will contain copious amounts of sentimentality, so if you don't want to read a bunch of mushy stuff, you might want to move on. It's OK, I won't be offended.

Lindsay, the new mother, had been in labor since Friday. They went to hospital twice and were sent home both times. She told me after the birth that she would have killed the doctor on Monday if he would have sent her home the third time. As soon as we knew she was in the hospital, my wife and I made the four hour drive, arriving after 11 p.m.

I'm not sure what we thought we were going to do, but we were going to be there. Boil water? Tear up sheets? Thomas and Lindsay had everything under control, and we were sent to their apartment to await news of the birth, which was expected near 5 a.m.

As soon as we got the call that Persephone. Wait. Let's discuss the name. Persephone is the Greek goddess of Spring. Lindsay and Thomas liked the name, and plan on calling her Sephie for short. Google it if you want to learn more. Marie is Lindsay's middle name, as well as my wife's.

So, we received the call, and went straight to the hospital. Things have changed in the past 19 years since we had our last child. The entire birthing process took place in the same room where we found the family and the baby, who stayed in the same room the entire time.

Tuesday was a wonderful day spent with family. Madison, our youngest daughter, joined us and we spent the entire day doting over the baby and allowing her mom and dad to get a little rest.

It was surreal to be sitting next to your daughter, holding her newborn that looks a great deal like her mother did about 26 years ago. Surreal, but wonderful.

You know the opening passage of Charles Dickens' "A Tale of Two Cities?" You know, "it was the best of times, it was the worst of times." That phrase took on an entirely new meaning for our family this past week. Tuesday was the best of times, one of those golden moments that you want to sear into your memory.

We gain a granddaughter the day before our last daughter leaves home to start a new chapter of her life. Emotionally, it was a bit like climbing a mountain, enjoying the view, then stepping off of the other side down a cliff.

Wednesday, the day we moved Madison into her dorm on the University of Minnesota campus, was 'the worst of times.' We got lost, had a flat tire, spent a long time waiting in line to use the elevator to move her possessions to her room on the 11th floor, and I put together a futon. "Some assembly required" -- among the three most scary words in the English language. We got everything put together and had to leave.

Not pleasant.

But, we did get to see her Labor Day and she seems to be acclimating herself well to campus life. Her mother and I are adjusting as well. The ritual of routine is an excellent coping mechanism.

My wife plans on spending next week helping out with the baby. Another chance to see how the baby has changed and how well the daughters (and Thomas) are coping.

As always, I welcome your comments. You can reach me by email at tstangl@lemarscomm.net, telephone 712-546-7031, x40 or toll free 1-800-728-0066 x40.

Thanks for reading, I'll keep in touch. Feel free to do the same.