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Growing up, my siblings and I spent a lot of time at our grandparents’ homes, and I’m not going to lie, I was not happy about that as a kid. Partially. My dad’s parents’ house was fine, because my cousins used to leave their N64 there all the time, and I didn’t have one and damn did I love that thing. But my mom’s? I love them, really, but there was nothing to play with at that house but old toys from my other cousin. They didn’t even have cable TV, and this was the 90s and early 00s. I spent a lot of time reading there (and watching Maury, but they can never know that), with which I suppose I was fine since I absolutely loved to read then (I still like to read but not as much for some reason). The real redeeming thing about going there (besides quality time with my grandparents, but I didn’t understand that as a little kid!) was my avó’s chicken and rice. All of us, my siblings and my cousins, love that chicken. We also happen to love her pizza, but that’s another story.

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