My champion -- aka the Grandson -- visited for a bit not long ago. As soon as his seatbelt was unbuckled he hit the ground running, and I could hear him excitedly shouting all the way to my back door.
"Gwamma! Guess what?" he said as he navigated the back step. "The Wild is in the pwayoffs!"
"The Wild?" I said. "The playoffs? Cool! They must be good at basketball."
He gave a puzzled look as I held the door for him. "Gwamma, don't you know anything about hockey??"
I do, sort of. I was teasing him. But it appears that I'll have to know a bit more about it in future if I want to earn his undying love and admiration.... He attempted to educate me as he peeled off his cap and shoes, filling me in about the stats and players and teams I've never heard of.
He rolled his eyes. "Gwamma, they're just the Bwoos. And the wed team is the Fwames."
"The 'Flames,' huh?"
"Yep. And they're wed because fire is WED."
"You don't say!" :)
First it was a game or two or twelve of Angry Birds. ("Gwamma, I will teach you how to pway. Watch and learn.")
Then it was outside for some croquet action. "Hey.... Did you buy this game Up North??" (Someone's obviously played croquet at a cabin.) Nevermind the stakes and hoops; we spent our time in the sun knocking each other's balls out of play and laughing as they rolled into the garden and under the vines.
In the course of our game we paused to watch the busy chickadees as they carved out a cavity in my locust tree. (The face of my Green Man merely looked amused as birds took turns darting in and out of his moustache.) The grandson was captivated, but only for a bit. Then it was back to the competition! He was The Wild and I was The Bwoos and there was no way he was going to let me win The Pway-Offs. :)I didn't try too hard. And he made sure to encourage me after every swing I took that missed.
All too soon his mom phoned to tell us she was on her way, so before he left for home again we took a break for Freezie Pops. 
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