Its Friday. That means I babysit my grandkids. The grandson and granddaughter. Different as night and day, and not just in gender.
The boy is three and a half, full of wonder and energy. In love with big trucks and Thomas the Tank Engine and driving over bridges. And digging for treasure in the back yard.
Even though I think he was running a fever as the day wore on, he still wanted to go outside with his grampa.
Then he needed to come inside to play with gramma. Which means hijacking my iPod and/or Kindle Fire. Because Angry Birds is on both. As well as Cars and several Abc,1,2,3 games I bought just for him.
Or asking a million questions. Including, "what is your name?" And when I tell him Reneé, he cracks up and says, "no it's not, it's Gramma!"
He was more subdued today. I could feel the heat radiate from him as he leaned into me. I may pay for that.
Although, later was another round of running through the house giggling hysterically, being chased by his little sister.
She? Is a character. A wee bit bow-legged right now at 18 months. Not that it slows her down. She's demanding and headstrong. A princess in army boots. Stomping her foot if she's thwarted in any way. If that doesn't work, she'll fall to the floor in a heap of rebellion.
She's enamored of her big brother, following him relentlessly. Her little legs hard pressed to keep up. Sometimes he's okay with that. Sometimes not so much. But she'd follow him to the moon and back if he'd let her.
Where the boy will sit still with me, she seldom does. She prefers being on the move. If she's still, she's asleep.
I'm in love with these children. I have patience and time I never found for my daughter, though I love her more than she can ever know. She is the mommy I should have been.
Perhaps its age and maturity, but this "gramma" gig? Is the best time of my life.
The Prompt: 500 words to write a piece, fiction or non-fiction, which includes the phrase “to the moon.”