Grammy is here! The kids weren’t excited a bit. Well maybe a little. Ouest has had a countdown calendar on her door for the past twelve days and she didn’t miss crossing off a single one of those days. She was due to get in while Ouest was in school, but her flight was delayed so we were able to boogie on out to the airport and surprise her. Keeping the kids from tackling their poor abuela was tough.
Her flight was delayed due to sucking a goose through an engine on take-off—which she seemed to equate with having crossed something off of her bucket-list—we weren’t able to do much besides grab a quick dinner before the kids were off to bed. But before we left her in her hotel room (our spare room has neither air-conditioning or window coverings) she gave the kids a toy each and a handful of books. We read the books—all of them—at bedtime, and Ouest went to sleep still talking about them.
In the morning I went in to wake her up for school and the first words—literally—out of her mouth were, “Will you read a new book to me?”
Lowe is just as hung-ho. He can’t tell us yet, but he shows us. After we all read two books together at night he jumps up, grabs another book off the pile and grabs Ali’s hand, ready to go read in his own bed.
We can never have enough books. Which reminds me of something that drives us nuts down here in Mexico. At the stores—even bookstores—books are plastic wrapped closed. There is no such thing as browsing a book before buying it. With adult books this isn’t such an issue, you read the back cover and make your decision, but with kids books? My god. Nine out of ten kids books are so terrible that you can’t even believe they were printed. And yet here in Mexico we’re apparently supposed to buy ten books in search of that one good one. And in our second language to boot. Which is why there is such a thing as grandparents and rolling luggage.