As we begin to mix the batter for peanut butter kiss cookies (my grandson’s -GS’s – choice), I hum to the Christmas music in the background. GS has refused to wear my “Christmas apron” that I bring out every December for cookie-baking.
GS is all-boy, immature for his age in some ways while being wise beyond his years. Last year as we mixed the sugar and flour, he confessed to me that he was 158 years old. Continue reading
“One of my first memories occurred when I was a three-year-old, sitting on my aunt’s lap.
“Excuse me,” I said politely.
She laughed so hard I bounced out of her seat. I was offended. Isn’t that what I was supposed to say? Continue reading
The day begins with anticipation, which makes me chuckle.
Gone is the time when I looked forward to a young man arriving at the doorstep for a date. Now, I’m anxious for the arrival of a 7-year-old boy and hours of Uno and giggles.
Sure enough, 90 minutes into my grandson’s visit, the score is Madre 540, genius boy 35.
The winner is the one with the lowest score.
This kid is killing me, particularly as he rubs his hands before each new game and says gleefully, “The cards just love me, Madre,” with a shrug and a wink. Continue reading