I found myself giggling at you while we were at Grandma Carol's last night. I know what it's like to go to a grandparent's house. I relished the Sunday family visits at Grandma Bernice's after church and the evening stays and Grandma Mabel's when my parents went out for the evening. The attention a kid gets at a grandparent's house is like no other.
Grandma Carol has a fan on a stand. Baby, you are afraid of it, but, my older boy, you think that thing is an airplane with adjustable speeds. You say you are the pilot and driving us all to your grandpa and grandma's house in Minnesota. Last night, you even had Grandma Carol get you a pillow and a blanket so you could go "night night" on the plane just like you do in real life.
Your two other favorite things to do there (besides eat her never-ending supply of chocolate chip cookies) is to pretend that the adding machine is a credit card machine and to sharpen pencils in the automatic pencil sharpener. Baby, who's not a baby so much anymore, at almost 18 months, you like to sit in the chair at the big desk and take that big pile of sharpened pencils and put them one by one through the mesh holes in the back of the chair.
Playing with keys is another favorite at her place.
I forget already what you guys used to like to do over there. Stickers. Daddy and the house. Pretend the cow is a musical instrument. The memories leave so quickly.
Grandma Carol says one of her fondest memories of your Papa Bob is giving him a cup of cold coffee and a hard biscuit and watching him eat them on a hump in the back yard where he grew up in downtown Fairbanks. That is what the gold-miners did and so he was pretending he was one of the guys. She thinks he was about 3, your age, and possibly explains his addiction to coffee now.
