Swinging with me in the hammock late Saturday evening, 5-year old Curlymop is suddenly entranced by my revealed tummy.
Before I even have the opportunity to ask if there is a wasp or an earwig on me, she stabs her finger into my belly-button and just as quickly removes it and sniffs.
Curlymop: I smelled your belly-button Gwama.
Last night with almost 6-year old Buttercup.
Buttercup: Grandma can I sleep with you.
Grandma (reading in bed): Okay, crawl in. I'm only going to read for a few minutes then go to sleep.
After several minutes...
Grandma: Buttercup, you need to lie still and go to sleep.
After several more minutes of Buttercup squirming under the covers and making little clicking sounds.
Grandma: For heavens sake, Buttercup, what are you doing under there?
Buttercup: Clipping my toenails.
Then there is 14-month old Caboose. I've been smeared with oatmeal and bonked on the head. He screamed when I ended his mountain climbing adventure on the table and his death squeeze on the long-suffering cat. That is just the highlights.
Grandma: Hey lil' Caboose...what's happening?
He took the words right out of my mouth.
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