How old are you, Ella? my friend asked our granddaughter Ella. Ella looked at me. I looked at her. Tell her how old you are, Sweet, I said. Ella appeared disinterested in the question, almost as if she were thinking why are the elderly so concerned with my age – can’t they show more curiosity? No one ever asks me what I’m thinking about, for example.

I’m 4 October, Ella finally replied.

(which was her interpretation of what we typically say her age is:

she’s 3 but will be 4 on October 1st)

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Overheard at bedtime last weekend:

Nana, why can’t you come live with me and Molly and Daddy and Mama? Ella asked.

Oh, darling, Nana has her own house and has to take care of three dogs and Naynay, too, Nana replied.

Naynay can take care of the dogs, Ella said.

Problem solved.

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Molly and me watching Wimbledon – I miss them both

Pretty and I acknowledge and embrace our adoration of our two granddaughters Ella and Molly. We realized when Ella was born we would become the typical grandmothers who think their little girl might be the cutest, smartest and funniest child ever. When Molly was born, we were sure they both were.

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Following a week of Vacation Bible School at Lolly and Pop’s church, I asked Ella if she knew who Jesus was. She said she did. I said well, good, tell me and Nana about him. Nana was in the front seat driving the car. Ok, Ella said and then came the slightest pause. She tilted her head slightly in Nana’s direction and said hmmm…Jesus was somebody that…hmmmm…(long pause)…he had…hmmm…he was really…hmmm… Naynay, I don’t know anything about Jesus.

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Slava Ukraini. For the children.