I'll Have What She Doesn't Have

I have a grandchild. His name is Tom. I am Tom's father's mother.

Tom has another grandmother, Tom's mother's mother. She's 65, I'm 83. Her skin glows, and mine does too with the help of some make up. Her husband is still alive; my husband is dead. I digress.

Tom never listens to me when I ask him to eat his cereal in the morning. Tom never listens to me when I ask him to clean up. He listens when She ask.

He doesn't pout when his mother ask him to say goodbye to Her. He often asks where I am a few hours after I leave. He doesn't notice.

I wish I was too tired to care, like my children like to think I am.