They’d asked me to keep the kids for the whole summer because they were renovating their house.
« Too much dust, » Adam had explained in June. « We don’t want them breathing that stuff. »
I hadn’t needed convincing.
« We don’t want them breathing that stuff. »
I’m 65, and two months with my grandkids sounded less like a favor and more like winning something.
We baked cookies, walked to the park, watched movies on my couch, and argued about whether popcorn counted as dinner.
Sophie talked enough for three people.
Ben was quieter. Thoughtful. The kind of child who noticed when my grocery bags looked heavy and grabbed one without being asked.
We baked cookies.
***
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