We had Ewan (nearly 3) staying with us for two days (one night) last week. He was very good, and enjoyed exploring Wisley. He examined flowers and statues. He lay down on his tummy to look into a pond, but sensibly ran away quickly when the resident swan came to see him off. He liked the novelty of his pick-your-own-child’s lunch (though I’m not sure his parents would have entirely approved of his choices which however did include an apple). The following day we went, in great excitement, to the Bluebell railway, where we watched a steam train set off, taking a load of children and their gasmasks, to be ‘evacuated’. We climbed the bridge, went to the shop, had tea, explored the engine-shed and jumped in all the puddles.

He’s very good to me, carefully removing any toys in my path. If I’m shaking a bit when reading him a story, he volunteers to turn the pages for us. When I sat in my wheelchair at one point at Wisley (because no seat was available) he got tremendously excited, and rushed to adjust the pedals for my feet, and then I realised to my horror, John being absent for a few minutes, that he proposed to push the wheelchair and despite my explaining that it was not necessary for him to push, I was just having a little rest, he was standing on his tiptoes behnd me struggling to get the brakes off. Fortunately he could not do so! He was quite disappointed when John returned with the drinks.

But it doesn’t do to get too chuffed over a grandson’s affection. I called, ‘Ewan’ up the stairs and he mistook me for his mother. ‘It’s Mummy!’ he said, in tones of great delight. “It’s not Mummy,’ John corrected him. “It’s Granma!’ ‘Only Granma!” Ewan muttered to himself in tones of disgusted disappointment, not intending me to hear.

But who can ever be compared with Mother, except of course, eventually, Wife?

About adhocannie
I am a good natured woman with a long memory and a swift tongue. I like loooking at things and thinking about them. Also food, clothes, travel, reading, sewing. I try to see the ridiculous in things, but sobriety of reflection keeps edgting in. I have husband, children, grandchildren, friends... I feel rich in things that matter. I am a happy exile. I like writing. I do not like talking about me (though I do.). You willl be much more interesting.

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