Of all the memorable things that happened during our granddaughters’ first sleepover in two years — getting vanilla frosting all over the kitchen table after making cupcakes, almost freezing to death in an inflatable pool that promptly deflated, and eating charred popcorn while watching “Encanto” for the 87th time — the one that will go down in family history occurred when my wife, Sue, had to sit on the bathroom floor with a glass of wine because one of the girls wouldn’t get out of the tub.
Grandchildren can make you deliriously happy, as ours always do, but they can also drive you to drink. And not from a sippy cup.
“Lilly,” Sue pleaded, “It’s time to get out of the bathtub.”
