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Oh, Those Grandchildren of Mine

I saw both of my grandchildren last weekend. I saw my granddaughter on Saturday and my grandson on Sunday. After a couple of weeks without seeing anyone but my husband, it was wonderful to see those two kids.

My husband and I spent a some time with our three-year-old granddaughter while celebrating her mommy’s birthday. That girl is such a joy. She peeked out the window when we rang the doorbell before swinging the door open. Smiling like an angel, she greeted us with “Hi!”

Relieving me of the paper bag in which I had her mommy’s birthday present and some clothes I’d bought for my precious princess, she had the bag dumped on the couch in no time. She didn’t even give her new clothes a second look. She ripped into the present and examined each item I’d tucked inside the box.

She was enamored with the pink polka dotted wrapping paper and shredded packing paper I used in the gift. While her mommy was welcome to keep everything inside, Maddie commandeered the paper. There was no getting it away from her. Her daddy tried.

Oh, the mess! The beautiful mess! There was paper everywhere. She created a nest with the wrapping paper on the floor and perched right in the middle of it. Then she took the shredded paper and threw it up in the air by double fistfuls, letting it rain down all over and around her. I hope her parents will eventually forgive me, but seeing her unabashed joy was worth it. That laugh of hers is the sweetest sound in the world.

She escorted us to our truck as we took our leave. She was fine until we climbed aboard. That’s when the water works started. She cried big ol’ crocodile tears because she wasn’t ready for us to go. We promised to see her again next weekend, but she was still unhappy. I hated to see her cry, but it’s gratifying to know that she loves us.

My four-year-old grandson arrived around 7:30 Sunday morning to spend the day with my husband and me. I hadn’t cooked breakfast yet. Though he said he’d already eaten, when he saw me put the bacon in the cast iron skillet, he asked me to cook him some bacon and eggs.

I happily obliged. I’m an old country cook. That means I cook my bacon first and then fry my eggs in the bacon grease. They aren’t the prettiest eggs, but they’re delicious, and I don’t use any cooking oil frying them that way. My boy has a different opinion.

I started to put his second breakfast on a plastic orange divided plate, one of three colors I bought for my grandbabies. He cocked his head and asked, “Nana, is the blue plate clean?”

The blue plate was clean, so I swapped the orange for the blue and carefully placed his fried egg in one section of the plate and bacon in another. He can’t have the food touch, you know.

He sat down at his little table and looked at the breakfast I’d lovingly made for him. He poked his egg with his finger and asked, “Why did you do it that way?”

Perplexed, I asked, “What way?”

“It has brown on it. It should be white and yellow.”

I was confused at first. Then it dawned on me. He wasn’t happy with brown hew the bacon grease gave his egg. Then he poked his bacon. What he said next broke my heart.

“Nana, this bacon is gross!”

I’ve been cooking for forty years, and no one has ever told me my bacon was gross. After I recovered from my shock and tasted my own bacon, which was really good, I asked him what he meant.

“It doesn’t move, and it breaks apart.”

Oh. Okay then. He apparently doesn’t like crispy bacon. I had no idea. His mother always demanded her bacon be extra crispy while she was growing up. I naturally assumed that’s how her son like his. I guess I should have asked him how he wanted it cooked.

His mommy confirmed that her boy eats soft bacon. All right then. I’ll remember to cook soft bacon for him from now on. It’s a no to cooking his egg in bacon grease next time.

His second breakfast couldn’t have been too terrible, though. I can tell you that my dog enjoyed Rye’s egg and bacon without a single complaint.

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