Been There, Done That: Possessed!
Richt now, I'm sitting on our front sidewalk trying to write because my two-year-old granddaughter, Madden, has just told me that the two rocking chairs on the porch are "MINE!" Okay, go ahead and be snotty and criticize, but I've been babysitting since eight this morning and I no longer remember what is normal for me and what isn't. There are tiny plastic farm animals all over the kitchen floor, which you know I'm going to step right on that pad under my toes where it really kills; and most of the petals are off the three flowers we had left in the front. We've had poppy diapers, which I stuck my finger in, and the only thing I've been able to get her to eat is a leftover packet of roasted almonds from a Wendy's salad bowl. Let's just say she's two and let it go at that. Being a babysitting grandma is a hydra-headed monster--one minute everything seems so circle of life, and the next, it all feels like a babysitting job when you were 13 an...