Out of the mouth of my babe

Otherwise entitled:  The influence grandmas have on their grandchildren.

So I might have flipped out a bit, when, about a month ago, my husband dropped the bomb on me that his next work adventure to Montana would be three weeks long.  He had been going a week here and a week there for a few visits, and I found those weeks to be quite the challenge.  I don't think I'd ever make a good single mom.  My hat goes off to those women whose husbands fight for our freedoms in the military - I don't know how they do it.  I can't even handle him being gone a week or two at a time.

Anyway, I decided to take my mom up on an offer to help and asked her to come.  She landed here in the middle of last week - partway into Ro's second week away.  The first of this three-week jaunt was really, REALLY bad.  Everything seemed to fall apart.  You may remember my pity-party blog from that time.  It was rough.  The second week started off a bit better, and of course, you know that my mom was a big help, if nothing else, with entertaining my very emotional and energetic five year old.  She read her many, many stories, carried on endless conversations, helped her dress and clean and eat and all that. 

A few days after Mom got here, Ro was able to come home for his conjugal visit.  We were so excited to see him and gathered around the dinner table for a family meal.  In the middle of the meal, Grace loudly announced, "And dad... whatever you do... you don't want to piss Memaw off!"

Ahem.

The following day Ro and I were at work in Grace's room assembling her new bed.  The thing took up the majority of her room, and Grace was sitting on the outskirts, near the door, watching us, when she said, "Yep.  That's a damn good-looking bed."

And then we had to have a talk with Memaw.

I'm just glad she didn't tell the pastor on Sunday that he preached a damn good sermon, I guess.