My Grandmother is 83 years old. She is awesome. The kids adore her. And a while ago my darling John looked at her and asked, "Great Grandma? When are you going to die?" And it wasn't in a 'please don't go!" manner. It was in a 'Really. When?' manner. She, being awesome, said, "I guess when God decides he needs me. Is that OK?" John nodded. He's four. I keep reminding myself that he is four . . .
We're staying at my parent's house and they have a great sprinkler system. It's in ground and pops up and the kids think it's their own personal water park. Yesterday the sprinklers popped up, each kid ran to one, grabbed hold and took aim at each other. Then one of them yelled, "Dog fights!" as in the World War II fighter plane fights. Because they play this game on the computer with my husband. They played 'dog fights' for about 45 minutes. Yaaaayyyyy . . . .
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