A few days ago we had all the Grandlittle's with us and were hauling yet another pick-up load of stuff to the new house.
Mr. Jenny was cranky.
I was cranky.
The Grandlittles were NOT cranky.
Mr. Jenny and I had a teeny/weeny little tiff.
It was more a dispute...really.
And I was right.
And he was wrong.
He thought he was right.
And I was wrong.
Our very rare arguments are characterized with silence and a slight coolness to each other.
No throwing shoes at each others heads.
Even though I think that might be more fun.
I didn't even think the Grandlittle's noticed it.
I was wrong.
The littlest Grandlittle, Mo, picked up on the slight discord.
When we left I climbed into the back of the crew cab with the two littler kids and told the oldest girl to sit up front. With Grandpa.
I figured that would teach him for not knowing that he was wrong and I was right.
After a few minutes, though, Mo reached up and put one little hand on her Grandpa and the other on my arm.
"Grandma," she said in an absolutely syrupy voice. "Grandma. Let me just TELL you how SORRY Grandpa is."
Mr. Jenny looked straight ahead.
"Ahem," she cleared her squeaky little soprano voice. "Ahem! Grandma! Let ME just TELL you how SORRY Grandpa is. Right, Grandpa?"
Mr. Jenny paused for a very brief second and then sighed.
A few times.
"Okay, Grandma! I'm really sorry."
Then Mo continued. "Ahem! Grandpa! Let ME just TELL you how SORRY Grandma is. Right? Grandma?"
I knew this girl was precocious but a marriage counselor at six years old?
That just boggles my mind.
Our argument was put aside until Mr. Jenny and I went to bed that night.
"Ummm," Mr. Jenny said. "I think you were wrong but it's okay and I'm not mad about it anymore."
"I thought Mo said how SORRY you were?"
"She said that...not me," he replied.
I can't wait to call little Mo and have her make Mr. Jenny apologize again.
The Priscilla Test
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