the fourth

I’m back in the land of dial-up for the long weekend.  When we decided to move we promised our grandkids that they would each get a week every summer just by themselves and more importantly, without their parents.  Boy, did eyes get big and lit at that prospect.  So, though we have not quite completely moved, we are starting the first week, shortened to 4 days as we still have to be in town to work.  With us is our youngest granddaughter Robin.  She has been bugging us non-stop since the day school was out wanting her week.  Robin is 8, the youngest of four.  Her older sisters are twins at 11 and her older brother is 12.  She came into this world happy and loving, a huggy baby, as if she knew intuitively how to insure she would get her fair share of attention.  She is nearly always happy, smiling, easy to get along with and has an impish little look, pursed lips and raised eyebrows, that she will give you when she’s trying to get something and a smirk when she is amused.  She is wiser and smarter than her years.  She eats tomatos as if they were strawberries.  And her stomach is a bottomless pit.  She was not thrilled while I tried to get a picture of her on demand, one that showed her smiling face.