It was the time between the rush to get everyone ready for the day and the rush to get out the door.
Rye said, "Grandma Hazel is 91."
I have no idea what made him think of this at that moment. Perhaps, Mickey and friends had just counted by 10s to 100.
I nodded that yes, she is 91.
He said, "She says she's getting old. She already is old!"
I called her just Hazel. He questioned that. "Hazel?"
Her name is Hazel, I explained. He furrowed his brow. "Oh, I thought it was Grandma Hazel."
Well, you call her that, baby, I said, because she is a grandma. She's Daddy's grandma. She's your great-grandma."
And then it was silent for half a minute.
Rye said, "Do you have a great-grandma, Mom?"
And isn't this sad? I had to think about who that would even be.
"No," I said. "I don't."
I don't even know my grandma.
And so I'm thankful again this morning that my babies have extended family who love them, that my son has a great-grandma who he's seen and hugged and knows, that he has grandparents who care.