Oscar is weally, weally cute

Do you want to touch him, Grandma?

Mary calls me from work to give me a list of things that Rhiannon can do for the day.

Mary hasn't had time to talk about this as she gets the lunches for the other kids and hurries with them (and the dog) off to school. 

The dog comes home with the neighbour.  Now it is not that I am adverse to walking dogs, but they get the best of me lately, making me jump the leash too many times in order to stay on my feet.

So in the interest of my safety, others walk the dog.

In an early morning phone call to me, Mary's list  of possible activities for Rhiannon include the play dough and cutters in the craft shelf that Mary says Rhiannon will direct me to.

As well, I am told about the tea party set with the information that she will pour water for an hour, but that I should have a towel close by.

However none of that is going to be done this morning, for I see her over at the turtle cage, pulling the door down, and glancing at me sideways to tell me that it is OK, her dad lets her do that.

Now yesterday she told me that her dad lets her stay in pyjamas all day -- and who I am to contradict what a little girl thinks her dad would tell her.

"Touch right here, Grandma."

But today? This is the day she is going to take her turtle for a walk.

I tell her she can take him for a walk as soon as she gets out of her pyjamas, so ... at least, today she is dressed for the day.

"He is slippery when you get him out of the water."

"I hope he doesn't get away.  He does,  you know."

"He likes to have his nails touched.  That is what Naomi does to him."

"Open your eyes, Oscar," she says, petting his head.

"I should dry Oscar off," she says, running for a towel.

Yes, all of this is more fun that rolling play dough.

Arta