Raising two toddlers at sixty-three was far from easy.
My savings disappeared quickly, so I returned to work. I worked long shifts at a small grocery store during the day and stayed up late in my kitchen experimenting with herbal tea blends.
Chamomile, mint, orange peel—simple mixtures at first.
A neighbor suggested selling them at the farmers’ market.
So I gave it a try.
The first weekend I earned forty-seven dollars.
A month later it was three hundred.
Slowly, my little project turned into something bigger. I sold tea blends every weekend until my hands trembled with exhaustion.
Within two years, I had an online store. People loved the flavors.
By the time the twins reached middle school, the business had grown far beyond what I ever imagined. There was a warehouse, employees, and deals with coffee shops across the state.
But to the boys, none of that mattered.
To them, I was simply Grandma.
Jeffrey became a thoughtful, quiet reader who loved thick books. George, on the other hand, was loud, warm, and constantly laughing.
At night they sat at the kitchen table while I packed tea orders.
“Grandma,” George would ask, “did Dad like baseball?”
“He loved it,” I’d tell him. “Though he couldn’t throw straight if his life depended on it.”
Jeffrey would smile.
“Did Mom like it too?”
