Along the road to grannyhood

This is my son on a bitter-cold Sunday morning swinging one of the grands — the 11-year-old — after they spent a frozen evening at my house — the one that with no insulation and scant little heat. I told the grands when they came downstairs for breakfast dressed in their winter coats that they can go to any ol’ grandmother’s house to be warm and fed, but if they come to my house, it’s an adventure.

I’m not sure they bought it.