Free Chicken Soup for the Grandma's Soul by Jack Canfield Page A

couldn’t sputter one out.
    As you can see, life is not boring when you live with your kids. Eventually my new home was finished and I moved into it. The Norman Rockwell picture changed.
    Although I am happy, I miss the laughter and fun of my son’s household.
    As you get older, if you are faced with living with your children, don’t be afraid of it. Hang on! Perhaps Rockwell has already painted a picture of the pleasing life you are about to experience. Or maybe you’d like to paint your own picture. Either way, it will be as good as you make it—or better.
    Joanie Gilmore

Everything but the Kitchen Sink
    W e are all here for a spell; get all the good laughs you can.
    Will Rogers
    By my teenage daughters’ standards, her purse was huge. Theirs were tiny things that could barely hold a lipstick and compact; they wore them on their shoulders just under their arm. Grandma’s handbag, suspended by thick, black leather straps, hung down on her hip. It was big enough to hold everything you could possibly want.
    One day we were all in the car when my daughter Shazara spilled some drink on the back seat. “Mom, do you have any napkins?”
    â€œNo,” I replied.
    Suddenly, Grandma reached for her handbag on the car floor near her feet and opened it wide. Her head almost disappeared inside as she rummaged around, pulling out a handful of napkins.
    â€œThere you go, sweetheart,” she said as she handed them to Shazara.
    In my rearview mirror I could see my two daughters sitting there with a huge grins on their faces.
    â€œMom, there’s a thread hanging from my T-shirt,” Reece called out.
    Again opening the jaws of her handbag, Grandma rummaged in the darkness of her purse and retrieved a pair of scissors.
    â€œThere you go, love, “ she said, handing it to the girls in the backseat.
    They sat with wide grins on their faces that itched with orneriness.
    â€œMom, I need a knife and fork! “ said Shazara, trying hard to sound serious about her request.
    Again Grandma opened her bag and her head disappeared into its depths. She handed Shazara a neatly wrapped plastic knife and fork in a white napkin. “Here you are, Shazara.”
    I could see the girls’ faces, looking quite amazed. Surely they weren’t going to ask their Grandma for anything else.
    â€œOh no, my hands are sticky,” Reece complained. “Have you got anything that I can wash my hands with, Grandma?”
    Again, she delved into the black handbag. I could see the girls waiting in anticipation to see what Grandma was about to produce from her bag this time.
    â€œHere you go,” she said, passing a wet tissue in a sealed packet to Reece.
    We all laughed out loud when Reece joked, “For a minute, Grandma, I thought you were going to bring out the kitchen sink!”
    Nadia Ali

Trying Times and Dirty Dishes
    T he flower that follows the sun does so even in cloudy days.
    Robert Leighton
    I cleared the table and stacked the breakfast dishes on top of the dinner dishes still in the sink from last night’s feast of macaroni and cheese with carrot sticks. I braced myself for the cold, clumpy feeling of the dishwater, then plunged my hand deep into the sink, searching for the plug.
    â€œYuk! Why didn’t I do these last night?” I asked of who knows who. The only people around to hear me were my kids, ages six, five, three and two, and my six-week-old baby.
    It wasn’t just the dishes. The dryer had gone out that morning and sheets were drying over every available chair and table—to the great delight of my sons, who were playing fort all over the house. I would have hung the sheets outside, but it was ten degrees and the path to the clothesline was under a foot of blizzard snow.
    The living room was an explosion of toys, and the way
    things were going it would be lunchtime before breakfast cleanup was done or we were even close to being dressed. The flu that had