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SOMETIMES IT TURNS
OUT JUST FINE
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Regular readers of this column might remember that I very
reluctantly agreed to let my daughter, son-in-law and their two children
move in with my wife and me while they did a major remodel of their home.
The tenure was not long---ONLY ABOUT A YEAR OR SO. I was
petrified of losing my beautiful empty nest, but I agreed, under pressure,
to let it happen.
The move happened last November, shortly after I wrote the
column where I decided to give the move-in a try after my son-in-law
graciously agreed I could politely tell him to "be quiet and get out of
my face," anytime I wanted. I vowed to give a progress report to
concerned readers, of which there were at least one or two.
It's now been almost three months and the verdict is in---I
absolutely love having them in our house.
No one is more surprised than me. All the worry, all the
trepidation, all the anxiety---gone. The house is bustling with controlled
chaos, and I'm loving it.
The reason for my exuberance is pretty simple. The two children
are a five-year old girl and a six-year old girl, prime ages of cuteness.
And better yet, I don't have to do a thing except acknowledge them.
"Good morning, Grandpa!" they'll chime as they get
ready for school, their parents scrambling to get them dressed, making their
breakfast and lunches. "Goodnight, Grandpa" they'll
say as their parents begin the nightly drama of getting them to bed.
It's so fun to watch, knowing I don't have to do it anymore. I
do nothing except admire their cuteness.
For example, I came home the other night, and the two little girls were in
our downstairs playroom. I poked my head in to get my, "Hi,
Grandpa" but I got more than I expected.
"Grandpa, can you help us with our art project?" one
of the little ones asked.
It was a beautiful moment, indicative of why everything was
working out so well. "Grandpa doesn't do art projects," I quickly
replied. "Ask Grandma."
They didn't skip a beat. "Okay, we'll ask Grandma,"
they happily said. And back to work they went, while I went upstairs to my
cherished solitude.
Grandma, of course, doesn't get off quite so easily.
Knowing she's an easy mark, they'll hound her to play games, do art projects
and take them places. But she's generally happy to do so, with a few
meltdowns here and there.
Not me. I'm not even close to a meltdown because they don't bug
me in the least. We smile, we laugh, we occasionally talk, and they're old
enough to know when to leave me alone.
If they were younger, it might be a disaster. I always remember
playing with the first grandchild when she was about 2 1/2 years old. I vigorously
bounced her on my knee and we both had a nice time.
"AGAIN!" she demanded. After the 17th
"again" I vowed never to live with a 2 1/2 year old. It was
exhausting.
But five and six year olds are a different story. And it helps
to have a big enough house where they can be downstairs most of the time,
out of sight. Add the fact that my son-in-law is a terrific chef, and you've
got the makings of a beautiful situation.
True, it's only been three months and we've got at least nine
more months to go. But I'm in no hurry for them to leave. When they told me
a permit problem on their remodel has stalled construction for a few weeks,
I barely flinched.
They've brought a welcome energy back into our home. And the
best part is that the energy comes from them, not me. I can watch their
hectic lives and remember the days when my wife and I were doing the same.
That's what makes it so fun.
Almost everyone cherishes being a grandparent. To watch them go
through their daily lives, and not having the responsibility of making it
happen, is an absolute treat.
If I sound like an old curmudgeon, so be it. At least I'm a
happy curmudgeon. And let it be known that I did help the six-year old with
her homework the other night. Reluctantly.
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