Baby Cyclone

I just went upstairs to the kitchen to get myself a cup of coffee and was shocked by the cyclone that must have hit my home. Toys, books, stuff all over the floor. A dining room table piled up with who-knows-what. Kitchen counters that are in more disarray than a simcha hall after a Chassidic rebbie's wedding.

B"H, it's not the kind of cyclone that those poor folks in Queensland, Australia, just suffered. (May Hashem help the good people there to recover ASAP.)

My home has been hit by a tiny tornado, or perhaps tiny tornadoes. They're called my grandchildren. And there is nothing happier for me than when my children and grandchildren come for Shabbat.

Their parents are strict and really keep them in check. (They are lovely little people, thanks to their parents' guidance.) At Savta's (grandmother's) house, everything goes. The kids are king. I'll read any book, play any game (unless it's at 2 PM when my Shabbat eyes are closing) There's Shabbat pekelech (goodie bags) filled with forbidden foods and there's any fun you like. Now, this may get me in trouble with parenting experts, but pish tosh. I wait on baited breath for their every visit, and I want to make sure that they remember what fun they had too.

So, I guess it will take me two days to clean up from 25 hours of fun, but it was well worth it. And although I might faint from embarrassment if a stranger walks into my house right now (please don't drop by my house right now), I don't really mind. I am grateful for the mess, because it means that my house was filled with happiness and hubbub over Shabbat.

My blessings to you all, dear readers, a baby cyclone. It's messy, but the nachas can't be beat.