This morning's moment

I was eating Frosted Mini-Wheats, legs crossed on the living room floor this morning, while Paige danced to Mickey Mouse Clubhouse on TV and Rye sat nearby on the couch.

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.