Being Four is the Bomb

I have a grand daughter. Long story short- she is  not my flesh and blood as from one of my natural born children- but the daughter of my husband’s younger cousin that I claim also. My gig is being the most amazing YaYa ever. Tough job some times, but oh so worth it. 

The Man (who was named Pop’m by a stubborn baby) and I were blessed to spend the day with her yesterday on her birthday. What an adventure we had! Of course I took loads of pictures! 

Before I share the pictures, let me show you what kind of conversations happen with this particular toddler...

Sass? You want a banana?

No ma’am, I’m not hungry. 

Five minutes later.....

YaYa? I need cake and ice cream..I’m so hot. Ice cream would help. 

You have to eat a healthy choice before a fun choice. 

I really need ice cream and cake. 

No healthy choice., No cake and ice cream. 

Silence. 

You want a banana?

Yes ma’am.

It’s always a good time here at The Edge when reasoning with a future lawyer/ballerina/princess. 

Birthday micro-fashion. Rainbow Dash dress. Best part? It had pockets! 

Lunch of choice was at the barrel of crackers where she found her baby and magic bottle. Little pit stop on the way to the tahoe to rock and feed the new baby. 

Adventuring is tough, people! She was passed clean out. If she were 17 years older? I’d say she stayed too long at the club. 

Recognize the lady on the right? That’s MY baby girl. The college freshman. Gonna catch you up on her soon. 

Candid photo for the win here. 

Serious as I can be- that’s my heart right there. There is something about grand children that activate a section of your heart and soul you never knew existed until they arrive. 

Just Don’t Understand

We all know this here gal is Southern. I adore good food. Shoot, most food addicts adore good food. I am no exception. 

What I do not understand is Chinese food. We have a great one that delivers when I have decided cooking is not an option that day. It’s quick, good, and full of sodium. Last night we ordered some of that amazing goodness and sat down to eat upon delivery. 

My husband had this little container of rice. White rice. That’s it. Nothing else. (It went with his General Tso’s Chicken)

Now, what kind of sense does that make, I ask? I had fried rice with flavor, little bits of ham, and some veggies. His was just....plain.

I’m sorry, but we Southerners just can’t do this white plain rice. There’s gotta be some flavor up on top or cooked in to it. 

That sad little container of rice was thrown away and never even touched. 

Rice is a canvas.....gravy is the paint. You gotta have both, people.