Two years ago, her parents entrusted me with her care. Next week, I will hand her back to them, and she will enter the big, bad world of daycare. I'm sad. I can't lie. But it's time. Alas, she remains untoilet-trained, and continues to speak a combination of Russian and French with a hint of Hindi -- unless she wants peaches or supe. Then, her English is just fine. Oh yes, and she drinks more juice than water most days. I make no apologies. I am her grandmother, not her mother. And I've never been a particularly focused caregiver. When I need a nap I take one. So for a time every day, the iPad has been the nanny. Which might explain the Russian and the Hindi. And her fixation on ghosts. In my own defence, I kept her out of the hospital, though we did have a few close calls. Like the time she brought the occasional table down on her neck. Or the other time she tumbled down the stairs because a certain grandpa couldn't remember to close the
More than a million served!