Making Memories

Gramma

Had the grandkids for the weekend.  Started Friday after school with some garage-saling on the way home and a stop at the Dairy Queen for ice cream.   Fresh baked bread, which they love, was dinner.  They don't get "good" food at grammas.  Saturday morning, there were home-made cinnamon rolls for breakfast.   Made a trip to town to get provisions for chocolate chip cookies for lunch.

While in town, we scanned the Goodwill and Helping Hand for "stuff."  Fee came away with two pairs of new silver sandals, and an insulated water bottle.  It's just like the one her best friend has.  Bubba found a truck that does one trick.  It's just like the one his best friend has.  Neither wants anything to do with the stew I made for Dave.  Pizza rolls for dinner.  Gross. 

The kids love bedtime.  We read a story, and then another and another.  They each have a heated lap warmer on their beds.  They let me sleep in while they take turns playing on the I-Pad in bed or watch cartoons and turn on the fireplace to warm up the living room.  As soon as I'm up, they want chocolate milk, donuts, and/or sugar based cereal.  My offer of eggs is turned down. 

Even though it's cold, they want to be outside making parade laps around the driveway with the scooter they got for Christmas.  Periodically, they come in to refuel with sugar and warm up in front of the fireplace.  While I am seriously cleaning and organizing my shed/she cave, they play with the toy inventory.  Meanwhile, mom posts on Facebook that she is bored without the kids.  Take a nap already. 

Sunday is a short day.  I give them their choice of which playhouse to clean.  Up to the treehouse we climb with supplies.  Bubba loses interest first and plays in the tube slide.  Pretty soon I am finishing the job myself.  But, it was about involving them in maintenance.  One down, two to go.  Next time.  I send them home with the rest of the bread, sweet rolls, chocolate milk and more than half of the cookies, which I had a hard time resisting for breakfast this morning. 

On the forty-minute trip to the halfway meeting place, which is a Dairy Queen, they watch a movie on the car DVD players.  I drive a POS mini-van, but the inside is nice.  I was a half hour off on the time, so we traipse through the local antique store.  It has been a good weekend, no biting and no more than the usual arguing over who's turn it is.  When I am old, will they still visit me?  The reality is, not so much.  I already tell them to bring me beer when I am in the nursing home.  I miss them already.