One day the front door flew open and Eli (then 4) charged in. He was halfway to the kitchen before he noticed a group of women seated in the living room.
“Gram. I need five cookies!” His little chest was heaving.
“Why five?” I asked, wondering who would get the lion’s share, him or his older sister Jasmine.
“For me and Jaz and free friends!”
By the time we stopped laughing he had pocketed the cookies and was on his way back out to the street to share the loot with his sister and three neighbourhood kids.
Recently, however, disaster struck. My busy travel schedule caught up to me and the cookie jar held nothing except a few greasy crumbs. Eli’s mom was away for a week so he was spending his afternoons with Gram.
I picked him up at kindergarten at noon and brought him home with me. Eli ran straight to the cookie ark after hanging up his jacket and snow pants. I entered the kitchen just as he lifted the lid and got the shock of his life.
One hand on a hip and the other still holding the ark lid aloft, Eli turned slowly to face me. With utter disgust he declared: “Gram. You’re fired!”