
There is some sort of internal force governing the behavior of Balkan grandmothers in the presence of their grandchildren. This mysterious force turns normal human beings into well rehearsed feeding machines; permanently shadowing hyperactive toddlers, a plate in one hand and a well-composed bite in another (a little piece of bread, some vegetable, a chunk of meat if they manage…) always aiming for the kids’ mouth, using every single chance said mouth is open (be it for purposes of speech, laughter, cry, whatever..) to park the bite inside.
We typically spend our weekend lunches (and the ensuing afternoons) visiting grandparents. For us, it is an opportunity to sit down to a proper meal which I didn’t quickly scramble in the kitchen while the toddler was getting into one trouble or another. For Ognen, its an chance to explore new rooms and spaces, marvel at other washing machines, test car toys on unfamiliar surfaces, hide behind doors and generally run around squealing in delight. For the grandpas, its a weekly dose of physical exercise. For the grandmas, its the ultimate test of seeing how much food they can stuff into him.
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