Bragging Rights Of A Grandparent

It seems to me that when I was younger, I gravitated toward people older than me because they seemed more interesting. Then as I got older, I gravitated more toward those younger than me because most of the older generations only wanted to talk about their grandchildren, doctor appointments and medicine they were taking, which bored me. And my eleventh commandment says, “don’t bore me.”
 
Now I like to talk about my grandchildren, which are anything but boring to me. And love having them around. Some have said the reason grandparents and grandchildren bond is because they have a common enemy. I don’t know about that.
 
Just over a year ago, I moved into a house with enough room to designate one room as their play room. I filled it with toys, books, two desks so they could do their homework, a TV, telephone, bed, toy stove and refrigerator, a table, play china, dolls, and a closet full of dress up clothes. My two granddaughters are 10 and 8, and my grandson is almost  3 years old.

They love to visit and play in that room. When they leave, I close it up until the next visit. They are home schooled and I’m conveniently located on their way to take ballet, jazz dance, piano, soccer, basketball, church activities, shopping, etc. Their room is like a little sanctuary for them.
 
The girls are commercial artists and do Jackson Pollack paintings to sell. Their names are Isabella and Olivia, and young William, who I call Prince William. They study arts and crafts at the Masters Academy of Fine Arts every week. And William goes to a little pre-school at the local church. At his age now, he’s the most interesting and entertaining. He has a memory like a steel trap and wants to do everything, especially cooking. Sometimes he pretends in the play room, then pulls a stool up to my stove to help prepare, stir and cook.
 
I bring him in my computer room and he knows what the monitor, mouse and hard drive is, and I let him operate the printer. He stretches to a foot taller…he feels so important in my lap operating the printer. I give him a gold star when he does something special and a red star if he’s a bit naughty. Yesterday, the computer went out and he wanted to know what happened. I suggested we give it a red star, so we stuck a red star on the computer.
 
He loves going outside and I began teaching him golf when he was only 2 years old. He can tee the ball up and hit the golf ball. His special time is twilight and talks about the sun going down and the moon coming up. He insists I play cars with him. We set up a parade of cars with a parade master, then yells, “start your engines.” Not yet 3 years old, he has a phenomenal memory and an unusually high comprehension level. I have decided children come into this world now-a-days knowing everything.
 
He was sitting in his Dad’s lap, who had his shirt off, pulled the hair on his chest and William asked, “what’s that?” His dad said, “just hair.” Then William said, “why don’t you put it on your head?” Out of the mouths of babies! I think it was Voltaire who grabbed the baby out of the Mother’s arms and said, “tell me everything you know.”

William has a ritual when he visits that goes like this—“let’s cook, let’s read a book, let’s go to the park, let’s play golf, let’s go to the computer, let’s sit outside and watch the moon, let’s pick flowers, let’s play train with Thomas”—and on and on infinitely he goes. He’s happy when he comes and happy to leave, and so am I. But can’t wait until he comes next time…never a dull moment.
 
It’s no wonder grandparents brag about their grandchildren. At the risk of sounding prejudicial, I think mine are the smartest of all! Tut tut.
 
If there’s anyone who wants to blog about their grandchildren, I understand.
 
Let Freedom Ring!
 
JUST ME,
AC

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