My Favorite

Today I need to start sketching my redheaded girl. It’s part of my plan to do a watercolor portrait of each of my grandchildren. I never knew that something so much fun could be so difficult. Or, is it the other way around?

Little Buddy was my first grandchild. His was also the first (and only, so far) portrait that I have completed, signed, and framed. At ten, he can beat me at every video game, but still wants to be cuddled at bedtime and be told, again, the story that you made up just for him. (He has it memorized.) I often recall his first moment of life, as I was there. Wish I could have been there this summer when he hit his first home run. Because he is my favorite, I want to be there for every first.

Lttle buddy & My Red-Headed Girl a few years back


My Red Headed Girl is probably going to grow up to be an attorney. We talk about serious things of which most 9 year olds are clueless. We also talk of fun things, and she can match me eyebrow for eyebrow for sarcasm and puns. She likes to watercolor, too. She’s long and lanky and has the thickest mane I’ve ever had the opportunity to brush and braid. She’s my favorite because we are friends, and we love each other more than a poo poo platter. It’s a Bugs Life.

Ben jammin’ knows he’s my favorite. His brain is like an energizer bunny hidden under a blond bobble head. He blushes like his mom and when he graduated from preschool this spring announced he was destined to become a firefighter just like grandpa. He is very artistic. At five he doesn’t save me many kisses, but I’ll survive with a snuggle and a book at bedtime. The surprise there is that he reads it to me.

When I held Goober in my arms, hours old, she already looked just like her mom. A perfect complexion, the bone structure of a Goddess, soft blond tresses and a contented little smile carved from a cameo made it easy to choose her as my favorite.

However, she is perfection in deception. At four, she can keep up with "the hole in the wall gang," send the Rottweiler to the corner, and bravely face a terrifying asthma attack. Bless her little heart.

The Buttercup looks the most like me of all the seven. That in itself is enough to make her my favorite. But there is more - by the time she was six month old her budding personality hinted she had also inherited my impishness, imagination and somewhat inspiring naughtiness. She’ll be three in October; a Libra like me. I predict she will be beautiful and a talented actress and be the one to take care of me when I am old - and feed me blueberries.

You just can’t help but smile when you are with 2-year-old Curly Mop. She has this enchanting little elfin face wrapped in ribbons of ringlets. When she giggles, which is often, you are quite sure you can hear it echoing in a distant zephyr as it wafts along its way. She shares all her secrets (in a constant babble) which she acts out with hand gestures and body wiggles. Moreover, she shares all her toys when you come to her corner to play. Her invitations are too sweet to decline. She plays hard, sleeps well and wakes up happy. She’s my favorite

There is a lot of his great grandma’s Guatemalan ancestry apparent when Peanut looks at you out of those dark eyes. At 10 months, he loves to say “HI,” to me on the phone in his husky little voice, and then giggle when I say "Hi" back. I am told he then kisses and slobbers on the phone. I can hear the sloppy noises and I love special noises. A bond with me is his amazing love for food. And, just like me, he can't seem to get through a meal without making a mess. Especially when wearing white. You can see why he’s my favorite. He is growing so fast and so far away in Sacramento.

An when the next one comes along, I am positive he/she will be my favorite.

I had better go set up my painting table. This will require my favorite colors.