Grandpa and I were sharing a meal with the grandchildren.
“Grandpa, is that a frog above your head?” my young grandson asked. Alarmed, I looked at the wall above my husband’s head. Sure enough, it was a frog—a little one, but still a frog.
Once the problem was identified, I wasn’t sure how to solve it. I certainly didn’t want to scare the frog. It might hop into the middle of the spaghetti. I was pretty sure I knew what red sauce would look like on white dining room walls. What if it confused the salad for a lily pad?
Finally, I stood on a chair, and armed with a sauce pan and lid, skillfully trapped the jumping amphibian and relocated him to the great outdoors. We finished the meal in peace.
Later, after my daughter and her children were home, my phone rang. “The kids said you had a frog for dinner. I can’t believe you got them to eat frog legs. All I can get them to eat is chicken nuggets,” my daughter said.
Clearly, what happens at Nana’s needs to stay at Nana’s.