Page 60 of The Last Time

“Yay!” she jumps around all the way to the kitchen.

Thankfully, that was enough for her to feel content. I’m too tired to deal with a meltdown right now, though, and it’s not like any parent has the energy for one.

“Do you want to help me make dinner?”

“I help!” she screams with excitement.

I pick her up and place her on the counter, then ask her to hand me the mini potatoes, and I start cutting them.

“What did you do with grandma and grandpa today?”

She holds a potato in her hand as she talks. “We bake! Apple pie, Daddy!”

“Apple pie. I love apple pie.”

“Me too!” she says as she rubs her belly enthusiastically.

She’s so darn adorable. I laugh as we continue to work together, loving this time we get together at the end of each day.

“Okay. Vegetables are cut. Let’s throw these in the oven with the chicken.”

I place her on the ground so she can watch me place it in the oven.

“What do you want to do while dinner cooks?”

“Color!”

“Coloring it is.”

I get us set up at the kitchen table with paper and crayons.

“What should I draw?” I ask her.

I’ve learned that whatever I choose is a bad choice in her eyes, so it’s best to just ask ahead of time.

“A house,” she tells me. “And a pig!”

“A house and a pig it is. Got it. What are you going to draw?”

“Worry about yourself,” she tells me.

I think my chin falls to the floor. “What did you just say to me? Where did you learn that?”

“Ganma. She says to Ganpa.”

“Grandma says that to Grandpa?”

She shakes her head and sets about coloring on her page like nothing’s wrong.

I’m officially stumped. If I tell her not to say that, am I throwing Grandma under the bus? But I have to correct her. I can’t have her running around talking to people like that.

“Honey. That’s not nice to say to anyone.”

She looks at me like she’s considering my words, deciding for herself whether or not she will choose to listen.

“Okay, Daddy,” she says, then grabs a crayon and starts gliding it along her paper until she notices I’m still sitting here frozen. “Color, Daddy.”

“Okay, sorry.” I pick up my crayon and try my best to draw a house with a pink pig standing next to it. I’m not a very good artist, but I must admit I’ve gotten better.

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