Resolved

The warring factions.

Dinner is over.

Everyone is comfortably full.

With the cleaning of the dessert plates, the grandkids have scattered.

Thus abating the noise.

Somewhat.

The adults’ visiting, hinted at before, has been undertaken in full.

The best of times.

Suddenly, one of the two-year-olds skids around the corner of the kitchen, makes a bee-line for Gramma and dives into her lap. Gramma’s arms are pulled protectively around a little, warm body.

Not a word is said.

Now, I should mention, here, that this behaviour, while not uncommon is . . . okay, yes . . . uncommon.

Snuggles in Gramma’s lap are brief.

Unless Gramma is holding a book.

Or treat.

And usually, there is some shrewd preliminary negotiation, as in: “Shall we have a story?” or “Who wants a treat?”

Back to my story . . .

Suddenly one of the three-year-olds also comes around the corner.

And she, too, goes straight to Gramma.

Then stands there.

Staring silently and accusingly at the little cousin in Gramma’s lap.

Ah-ha! I'm beginning to see . . .

I look down. “Hazel, what did you do?”

Wide eyes look back.

Still no words.

I look at the other little girl. “Bronwyn, what did Hazel do?”

A tiny voice, “She poked me!”

“Poked you?”

Nodding.

“Where did she poke you?”

Pointing to the ribcage on the left side.

“Hazel, did you poke cousin?”

More nodding. Still wide-eyed.

“Are we supposed to poke cousins?”

Head shaking.

“Maybe you should apologize.”

Two heads nodding. Two little girls saying, together, “Sorry!”

Yeah, the whole ‘say you’re sorry!’ thing is still a work in progress . . .

Hazel slides off Gramma’s lap and the two give each other a big hug.

“Now play nicely!” I say.

And they giggle and disappear.

Oh, if only the world’s conflicts could be solved as easily . . .