Their parents were out for the night. Ginny and I were the senior babysitters. Oh joy!
“Poppa Mike, I want a banana,” three-year-old Elizabeth demanded.
“You what?”
“I want a banana?”
I frowned at her. “Excuse me, young lady. That’s not the way to ask.”
“Poppa Mike, can I have a banana please?”
“Better! Yes you may.” I handed her a banana.
“Not that one, Poppa.”
“What’s wrong with this one?”
“I want one with a sticker.”
“Oh!” I looked at the bunch on the counter and saw one of the them had a blue sticker with the brand name on it and handed it to her. “This one?”
“Yes, Poppa!” She smiled and accepted the banana. “Thank you.”
“You’re welcome, Elizabeth.”
Before she peeled the banana, she took the sticker off. “Here, Poppa Mike.”
“You want me to have the sticker?”
“Put it here.” she said and pointed to her forehead.
I took it and reached to put it on her head.
“No!” She stepped back. “Yours!”
“On my head?”
“Yes!”
“You do it!” I told her. She took the sticker and stuck it on my forehead. “Make sure it’s on good.” I warned her. “We don’t want to have it fall off.” She slapped my head hard. I pretended to fall over.
“You’re silly, Poppa.”
“Of course!” I smiled and hugged her.
Later in the evening, Ginny said, “Well, let’s get these kids fed!” She clapped her hands. “Boys!” she called. “Time to eat!”
Elizabeth, put her order in, but her three brothers hadn’t come to the table yet. “Boys, put that game away and come eat,” Ginny yelled.
We listened to the stomp of six feet and a chorus of arguing over who got to play the video game next. They burst into the dining room with all the grace of a pack dogs on the scent of a rabbit.
Ginny and I refereed the meal until they finished eating (bickering) and managed to get Elizabeth to eat at least some of her meal.
I looked at Ginny. She looked at me. We sighed. “Ginny, is this what being a grandpa is all about? I don’t know if I can get through this,” I whined and turned to help with the dishes.
“Tag! You’re it, Poppa!”
