Redneck Grandpa: Farmin’

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Gramps and the dude.

My Dad is a bit gruff around the edges but has been building a nice bond with my three-year-old. It’s pretty adorable to see. We visited my parent’s home in the West Kootenays a few weeks ago, and Gramps had my boy out washing and driving his tractor lawn mower – farmin’ he calls it. My son was loving every moment of it.

“We’re going farmin’,” proclaims Gramps one morning. “Ha.”

“Going farmin’. Ha!” yells my son.

“Men gotta eat a big breakfast with eggs for farmin’ ” says my Dad.

“Eggs,” echoes my son weakly. The first time I fed my baby eggs at around 8 months he gagged, vomited and won’t have anything to do with them since.

Imagine my surprise when I found my son eating eggs! But when my dad left the room, the dude whispered to me “Mom, I don’t really like them. Can I still go farmin’?”

Oh boy. I really do want him to eat eggs. But you can’t force your child to eat something. I thought it was good that he tried it and told him so.

And then I watched my son have the time of his life out driving the tractor with Gramps. Farmin’.

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