What a joy grandkids provide us, particularly when they share their daily lives with you as a family. I’m talking about my 6-year-old grandchild, Denalia, and my rambunctious 8-year-old grandson, Jameson Contos.

They’re both in school where their father, Nicholas, escorts them daily by 9 am and picks ‘em up no later than 3:35 pm Monday through Friday.

But it is on weekends and such holidays as Yom Kippur that we get to cozy up on the already crowded sofa and watch them play games on the living room television with a controller. One of their favorites is the characters from “Minecraft,” the block-headed fellows that race around wherever you point them towards.

Jameson particularly enjoys some shoot-em-up games where he directs his character to use some sort of ray gun to eliminate the bad guys. It’s fun to watch as we scrunch up together, and I kinda cheer them on.

Denalia surprised both me and Jameson the other day when she went to the freezer above the refrigerator and took out two frozen waffles. She popped them in the toaster and then placed them on separate paper plates.

What really got to me was when she cut them up with a plastic fork and delivered a plate to Jameson, who shared a few bites of his with me. Jameson has shared ice cream in a cup with me and thrilled me when he shared a few pepperoni slices he also got from the freezer.

I recently told Jameson about my more than 10-year renewed belief in angels after Lorna Byrne, a woman from Ireland, talked to a group of us at what became the Center for Contemporary Mysticism. I address my angels every day, and I shared that activity with Jameson the other day.

I then asked him if he ever calls on angels. “I call on them to drop money in my bed,” he said with a great big smile.

Kids say the darndest things. Grandkids can say them even louder.