Christmas carols in July.
Blueberry muffins — “with a side of salami” — for lunch.
Converting the family room into a forested fairy home replete with flowers, tents, wildlife and access to Netflix.
Grandchildren invade our home almost as fully as they invade our hearts. And we love what they’ve done with the place.
Sippy cups in the cabinet. Fairy stickers on the playroom door. Tubs of paints and Lego blocks and toy trucks beneath a play table.
Kid-friendly is now our aesthetic.
Grandparenting is like simultaneously being a child and being the one in charge. It is a chance to do something most of us haven’t done in a long, long time: Play.
When a small face looks you in the eyes and says, “Wanna make a volcano?” you find yourself reaching for the vinegar and baking soda, as well as the food coloring because “black lava is cool.”
When the 4-year-old noticed that the loop connecting our kitchen, dining room and living room was “like a racetrack,” we quickly stretched a toilet paper finish line from the counter to the basement door.
No, we don’t have dementia — not that we’d know if we did. And, no, we aren’t trying to relive our youth. Ours was filled with chores and considerable financial hardship.
We just appreciate the importance of joy.
Maybe it was the terror of COVID, which compelled some of us to count our blessings, stop planning for a future and dismiss the importance of acquiring fancy, breakable things.
Maybe it is the loud, in-your-face nastiness of today’s election politics that makes us want to run from TV news and frightening forecasts in favor of a robust game of Hungry Hungry Hippos.
Maybe it is the loss of loved ones we believed would live forever.
Or perhaps it’s just that we’ve reached an age when the things that should matter really do matter. Making rainbow slime on the kitchen counter sounds like a neato thing to do. Who cares if it makes a mess or delays dinner?
Grandparents are blessed with a unique perspective. Our time is short so we actually get to live our priorities.
Of course, we consider the long game for these little humans. We want them to grow into responsible adults with dreams and passions and kind personalities. We encourage manners and always insist on respect for others.
But grandparents get the pleasure of hyper-focusing on the present. Today. Now.
I’ve always thought parenting to be the hardest job in the world. So much repetition. So much testing of wills. So much overlooking the present in favor of forward thinking. Teachable moments. Life lessons. Delaying gratification in an effort to build perseverance and establish coping skills. So much is riding on a parent’s stamina.
The rewards are tremendous but there’s a lot of anguish in parenting, a lot of self-sacrifice and a lot of hindsight reflection.
And, in the end, you’ve worked yourself out of a job.
Grandparenting is a whole different animal.
It’s estimated there are 1.5 billion grandparents in the world today, more than ever, stats say. While I can’t speak for all, I have to believe this is good for humanity.
Inadvertently, spending time with grandparents teaches children compassion for the elderly. We are slower. We have wrinkles. We sometimes don’t know what they’re talking about.
But that’s OK, because it gives the littles a chance to be caring, compassionate leaders.
It was a blustery afternoon last fall when the 4- and then-7-year-old decided we needed a new game.
I tied a long ribbon to a stuffed Ghostbusters toy and swung it from the upstairs balcony. They immediately began running laps, ducking and crawling as they tried to dodge the Slimer.
The game quickly morphed into Slimer Boss, with everyone taking a turn at the helm. The fun continues to this day. Even the 2-year-old greets Swinging Slimer with giggles and a robust push when he walks through the door.
We want our grandchildren to always feel unconditionally loved, and sometimes in charge, such as when they encourage us to “just try extra pepper on your scrambled eggs because you might like it.”
We want our home to be a safe haven, a place where they can explore, just hang out and, of course, play. So we’ve given away breakable things. And we don’t fret when paint drips or cookies crumble.
It is a small effort considering all they do for us:
Bear hug breaks while building a block tower.
A full-blown tackle when they see you’re the one picking them up from school.
A small face looking you directly in the eyes as he belts out, “Up on the housetop, reindeer paws…” on a steamy summer afternoon.
Grandparenting is a gift to those of us at the end of our long runs. As our bodies begin to break down, our minds begin to fade, our ambition and dreams dissolve, we are given one last blast of unbridled joy, one last chance to giggle at toilet jokes, to sprinkle glitter with abandon, to chase a 4-year-old superhero through the jungle gym.
It’s as if we are transported back to our youth.
There’s just one catch: The clock is ticking.
Donna Vickroy is an award-winning reporter, editor and columnist who worked for the Daily Southtown for 38 years. She can be reached at donnavickroy4@gmail.com.
