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Ice Cream as a Fruit at Christmas

I hope you all had a Merry Christmas and have a wonderful New Year!

As promised, I’m posting a heartwarming Christmas memory. This one is actually from this Christmas. Christmas Eve to be exact.

With holiday schedules being what they are, I decided to host my family celebration at my house on Christmas Eve. My step-son, daughter-in-law, and granddaughter came over mid-afternoon to celebrate. Mom, my sister, brother-in-law, nephew, and nephew’s girlfriend joined us that evening. Unfortunately, my step-daughter and her family couldn’t make it. We saw her briefly on Christmas Day when she was able to fit us in with her holiday schedule.

After my step-son’s family, my husband, and I had opened gifts, I went into the kitchen to start making our Christmas dinner. I was slicing ham when I heard a scraping sound. I looked up to see my sweet five-year-old granddaughter dragging her purple plastic chair into the kitchen. She then sat down beside where I was standing at the counter and asked me what I was doing.

I explained I was getting the ham ready to eat and asked her about her holiday. She said it had been good so far, and she was ready for Santa that night. She assured me she’d been very good this year. We chatted for a bit and somehow the subject of fruit came up. I asked her which was her favorite fruit.

She said, “All of them. I like grapes, strawberries, and ice cream.”

I laughed so hard, I nearly dropped the ham on the floor. I told her ice cream isn’t a fruit. She gave me a Cheshire Cat smile that dazzled me. I told her she could eat strawberries on her ice cream, and that would be yummy but still wouldn’t make ice cream a fruit. She disagreed.

She wandered off as more guests began to arrive. A few minutes later, my daughter-in-law came into the kitchen and asked me why her daughter was talking about putting strawberries on her ice cream. I looked her straight in the eye and said, “To make it a fruit.” I then winked and said, “Christmas magic.”

She chuckled and mumbled something about the girl’s imagination before joining the rest of the family in the living room.

Before you ask why no one was helping me, allow me to explain. I have a galley kitchen. It’s so tiny that I can’t stand between the dishwasher and the refrigerator if the dishwasher door is open. I also have to be careful opening the oven door, or I bump my rear-end on the cabinet under the sink.

The handy thing about my kitchen is that I can stir a pot on the stove with one hand and drain another pot into the sink with my other hand. Trust me, mine is a one-person kitchen. Perhaps someday I’ll be able to move into a house in the country with a big ol’ kitchen that has room for everyone. Whether or not that happens, I will always have room for my granddaughter and her little chair so we can discuss the important matters of the world.

Being a nana is the greatest gift I’ve ever received. I was born for this job.

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