I ASK MY GRANDSON

I asked my grandson, …what is my favorite thing to do,” after he asked the round table. “To play with me, of course.” “Of course, I love playing with you…” “and?” and “praising God” - oh how much better he knows me, than I know myself. I chuckle. “and?” I prompt, “and writing poetry.” “Oh yeah,” he says. I guess I don’t know me at all. Only after I asked my grandson, did I realize there is a better priority. Still, I think my husband must wonder where he fits in. …somewhere in between, woven in, with those brown eyes and kissable lips, often up on top, sometimes he slips between the sheets; still a grandkid comes to visit and he says “hello,” slips downstairs, and waits until the door opens to say, “goodbye,” then heads upstairs and winks, and I think, ‘no rest for me.’