Breakfast at Grandma’s
By: Sharon L. Romine
I recall breakfast at Grandma’s. There I'd be all snuggled and warm under Grandma’s electric blanket, and Grandpa, passing by the end of my bed on the way to the kitchen, would reach out and grab my big toe. After I’d raised a fuss, he'd grumble about kids sleeping so late. It was usually all of 5:30 or 6:00. From the kitchen, I'd hear Grandma fussing, “Henry, leave that young’un alone, she needs her sleep.”
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