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My dear, old (*snort*) friend and I were talking just last week about our granddaughters, age two, not yet mastering the consistently proper usage of pronouns: After a toddler stumble, "Ow, I bump you toe," or with arms up-stretched, "Hold you, Nana," which would result, of course, in said granddaughter being squished like a buhg.
So when Nana & Little Britches and Nana & Sugar Plum spent the weekend together, it was amazing to witness the girls' progress with pronouns:"That’s my Nana."
"It’s my Nana."
"No, it’s my Nana!"
"My Nana!"
"My cup."
"Mine."
"No, it’s mine!"
"It’s my cup!"
Sadly, the girls had nearly identical shoes, which prompted a few tears as they practiced my and mine, and Nanas scrambled to inspect shoes and untangle the mystery of which girl is right this time, and where’s the other pair?
One is affectionately touchy-feely, and the other is don’t you dare touchy-feely ME, so Nana-voices were to be heard throughout the weekend reminding and encouraging, “She doesn’t like that,” and, “She just wants to give you some love; she likes you.”
But there were plenty of good times and the making of memories. The little butterflies (one sporting a Superman bandaid for an owie) played with and fed the friendly CowNot.
There was a boatload of fun aboard the YachtNot.
And by Sunday afternoon, Miss TouchMeNot was offering Miss TouchyFeely some hugs.
Sunday evening (and all of Monday, if we’re to be honest) there were two exhausted Nanas. Nanas know how to share, and thus shared the thought: We really must do this again…when the girls are 17!
Thou wilt shew me the path of life:
in thy presence [is] fulness of joy;
at thy right hand [there are] pleasures for evermore.
~ Psalm 16:11
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