When my parents would travel for baseball or vacations, Baba would come and stay with us and we got away with murder. I mean literally, we could have probably murdered someone and she would be like, "Oh that's ok honey, I'll clean it up." It was a serious party when she was in town and I
I'd experiment with things in the kitchen, like trying to make gum from marshmallows, mint leaves and food coloring, almost setting the kitchen on fire, or climbing up on the roof, running around like a banshee and when she'd rush outside in a panic asking what I was doing up there, I'd tell her that I'm just picking up leaves so they don't stick to the skylights. Then she'd smile and tell me I was such a good little helper.
For dinner she would ask me what I wanted and since I was never really allowed to eat fast food I'd ask her if it was ok to have McDonald's. She would say, "MACdonald? Sure honey, you can have MACdonald." And off we'd go in the car. Sometimes we'd eat in the restaurant, sometimes we'd take it home. She would hand me the bag and I'd start eating the french fries in the car shoving them in by the fistfuls. She'd say, "SLOW DOWN HONEY." But I couldn't, this was such a special treat and it felt like I was in some sort of fast food trance.
Here we are some 25+ years later, and every time I see those arches, I hear Baba's voice and it makes me smile.